A Poised Imposter
by Chaos Box
Summary: World Conference has commenced but Arthur's gone a little haywire. Blaiming his now pink hair on a recent spell gone wrong, he recieves more then a few looms of disbelief. However, when Matthew takes this newly polite Arthur as a chance for friendship, everything is not what it seems...
1. The Intrusion

Arthur walked down the street from the hotel Alfred was staying at for world conference, damp London sidewalks dulling the even brisk clicking of his shoes on the cement. The younger country had left his jacket carelessly on the back of his chair, as the conference evidently being held in his own country, he felt at least somewhat obligated to help America out and shield him from torrential downpour forecasted for the morrow.

As he continued down the lamp lit street, he clucked his tongue softly smiling at the small mistake the nation had made.

"Hehe git knows nothing about London. Though he's been here so many times..." His voice trailed off as a figure stepped from the shadows a little ways down the road, his appearance throwing Arthur off a tad.

The man had a large baby blue bowtie poking from a light grey suit jacket. Its buttons undone to reveal a magenta knit of sorts beneath it. His hands were covered in the tan khakis he wore, the only truly visible feature was his strawberry tinted hair, shining dully in the glow of the street lamps. Yet in all of this seemed something rather familiar.

"You shouldn't call people that dearie, it might hurt their feelings." He looked up at England, blue eyes shining in the darkness, a delicate smile that seemed as though it would crack at any moment painted across his lips. Unnerve radiating from the unnaturally bright eyes.

Though there was nothing immediately wrong about this man, a wave of unease washed over Arthur as he was confronted about the mild language. He had no reason for it but something inside him compelled him to run. The same compulsion that a horse might have around dangers undetected by the normal senses. He took a step back and decided to walk the long way around the block to his home. Ignoring the further presence of the man.

"It's almost as rude to not respond to someone when they talk to you as well sir. Has your mother never taught you any manners?" An icy hand could be felt through Arthur's jacket as the man placed it on his shoulder, a soft laugh brushing across the end of his sentence.

"What the bloody hell do you want with me?" The nation whipped around to face the pink clad person before him. "You need money? I'll give you a few pence or something, but get off my case you wanker. Who are you anyways?" The man's expression changed, cerulean eyes narrowed sharply.

"Well 'ello then. You appear to be quite the potty mouth. You'll certainly owe me more then a few pence for something like that!" He seemed to pout a little and a small sigh escaped his lips. "My name on the other hand? Why that would be Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." England's eyes widened as he found the thoughts clicking into place.

"Ar-Arthur K-Kirkland?! That's my name! Where did you figure-." The pink Arthur smiled.

"It's my name as well, how wonderfully coincidental!" He chimed the words happily as a broad smile covered his lips. Only to have it falter into slight frustration. "But we can't have that now can we? If people were to mix us up it would be most devastating." His voice wavered with worry, head tilted slightly as a pair of fingers rested on his chin.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. I highly doubt we'll be mixed up anytime soon." England took a few steps back, his voice shrill as he realized he should never had engaged with the individual who apparently shared the same name as he himself.

"You're quite right I suppose... No one could ever mix us up. Especially if there were just one of us to begin with..." He smiled pleasantly at the thought.

"Wait, what could you possibly mean by that?!" England took a sharp gasp as he was slammed against the stone of a building on the London street. Area devoid of social activity. The pink tinted blonde threw him against the stone again. Arthur expecting it, grunted as his back made contact with the hard surface. He attempted to push the man off of him, yet beneath the suit jacket the strawberry blonde was sporting, lay much more strength then England had estimated.

The other Arthur's hand gripped at England's throat, his dominate reaching slowly inside of his suit jacket. He pulled a medium catering knife from within its grey depths. Putting it beneath the nation's eye, slit the skin slowly, taking it all the way up and around the bone surrounding eye socket, stopping at the eyebrow. Blood oozing from the cut and down the side of his face. The golden blonde forced his mouth shut as a similar procedure took place on his other eye, fearing that if he were to move, the knife would slip from the bone and plunge into his skull. The perpetrator frowned.

"Why, you aren't very fun at all! I was hoping to hear at least a desperate plea... Perhaps I'll just have to work it out of you." His expression remained indifferent as he said this. He flipped the knife over in his hand, placing the butt of the knife to the nation's temple. "Well then poppet. I'll be seeing you when you wake up." With that, the world went dark, the wooden handle crashing into England's temple.

Canada watched everyone file into the conference room. He enjoyed this, watching conversations pickup and let go, waiting for everyone to sit down and most of all, watching Arthur draw the pictures on the board. Today however, Arthur didn't arrive. Not that anyone aside perhaps Honda and himself had noticed of course. Matthew sighed, clutching Kumajirou tightly to his chest. It was probably yet another text message that everyone except him had received.

"I hope he gets here so we can start Mr. Kumakichi... It's not like him to be late..."

"I'm Kumajirou... Who are you?" Though the bear made no reflection of Canada's worries, the nation still clung to the fluff ball. Mere minutes later, Matthew realized he wasn't the only one worried about the older nation.

"And where is Angleterre? He hasn't argued avec moi once zis entire time! Has anyone seen him?"

"I dunno. He brought me my jacket last night and went home. Should we wait for him or something?" America answered the Francophone promptly and shrugged his shoulders as he sat down.

"Ve~... Germany, what do you think we should do? If Arthur's hurt then we can't just sit here! But maybe he wants to be alone..." The Italian continued to say each of his worries aloud until his voice had picked up a pace so fast that Canada wasn't able to understand a word being said.

"Zat is enough Italy. Ve vill start ze meeting vithout him. Anyvon disagree? Nein? Right then." Ludwig's thick accent gave no one any time to respond as he once again took head of the meeting. Just as the German was about to begin the meeting, the doors swung open and England walked through the door. Well, sort of.

His green formal wear was prepared neatly on his persons, saucer of tea in his hands.

"I appear to be late. I do apologize. It's rather discourteous of myself to leave you waiting like this." He nodded in a curt apology. Everyone stared at him as he sat down. Matthew gaping at the suddenly polite endeavour of the usually crude nation. "Well? Don't mind me. I'm sure I can figure out where we are in the meeting." Canada watched the flustered Germany regain his bearings.

"Uh... Right zhen. Vhere ve left off last night ja?"

"Ja Herr Deutschland."

"Preußen! Vat are you doing here! You haven't been allowed here since 1918!"

"Vat? But my supreme awesomeness has been here since forever. I never left. Nor shall I ever admit ze defeat of my awesomely awesome awesomeness of awesome!"

"Look, can't ve save zhis argument for anozher day and focus on zhe pink haired Arzher in ze corner?!" Everyone turned their attention from Prussia and Germany back to Arthur who's hair was indeed tinted pink, he smiled softly as he stirred sugar into his tea. Matthew furrowed his brow, trying to think of what could possibly have made the Brit act in such a well, Canadian way. England sat pleasantly sipping his sweetened tea, bushy eyebrows relaxed into a state of comfort.

"Hm? Oh, me?"

"Ohn, je ne sais quoi... It's certainly not as though there are two Angleterres. Of course he means you." France sighed as the other nation appeared to be playing dumb. The strawberry blonde laughed nervously, looking directly at Canada, and much to the younger nations surprise, talking to him.

"Maybe I just thought a little bit better of myself. There's reasons why dear Canada here doesn't get into any fights." As looks of disbelief floated country to country. Matthew felt his face go red, merely from such a small amount of sudden attention.

"Ah well... Yes... But is there not something else Arthur?" Matthew spoke quietly to the older nation who listened intently. As soon as Canada had finished his sentence, England spoke. His words too fluent to be a lie but too abrupt to be truth.

"Ah yes. I appeared to have had a run in with some mispronounced Latin late last night. I had to finish a spell off and it doesn't appear it's something I should've done that late. I, unfortunately, have been dyed a pink colour temporarily as a result." Alfred laughed loudly at this.

"Ahaha! What did you do? Try to turn yourself into a fairy or something?" Arthur shook his head, which a few moments later was being touched by Italy.

"Soft... Your hair is very soft now Mr. England!" An ohlivious smile played on Feliciano's face as he ruffled and petted the hair.

"Italy! Vat do you zhink your doing? He is still your enemy, pink or not!" Germany tried to take the Italian off of the Englishman only to be swatted away by a surprisingly gentle hand.

"It's fine Ludwig. I don't particularly mind." Arthur continued to drink his tea as he said this, smiling at the tall man.

"I fear that Mr. Engrand-san may have run into more then just mispronounced words. I am concerned for his safety." Japan spoke quietly to America who gave him a glance. Though returning his focus back onto Ludwig who resumed to meeting.

**so what did you guys think? I'm planning on continuing this one for a while I suppose. I haven't done a thing with 2P hetalia before and crossed them over so I thought that this would be interesting. Let me know what you thought and maybe suggest some things? Thank you for reading and stay tuned for next chapter!**


	2. The Arrival

After being ignored the entire meeting, much to Prussia's distaste, he collected his jacket and yawned. He stood up and yawned, mahogany eyes squinting. One of the several birds he unwittingly owned chirped as it happily made a nest of Prussian hair for itself. The silverette sighed. Honestly, if it weren't for the fact of Ludwig being his older brother, he'd probably get worse treatment then Matthew.

Gilbert walked down the hall, humming his anthem dully. As another voice joined him in harmony, he turned to see Arthur, pink hair and all smiling at him. A gentle look that Prussia had never thought genuinely possible on the ex-pirate's face. The blonde walked up to him and looked him over a few times before appearing to come to a conclusion.

"Vat are you doing Arzher?" The Englishman laughed a little, straightening the dark grey tie around his neck. He smiled semi-sweetly at the ex-nation.

"Nothing at all dearie, you aren't the right kind. Not tender enough I would suppose." Gilbert watched silently as Arthur walked past him and down the hall, wondering what on Earth that could've meant. He brought his legs to motion and walked down the hall in pursuit of the nation. He wanted clarification, and better yet some of that black magic to cast something on Germany, who had made an established point of ignoring him for the rest of the meeting.

Gilbert had been around during England's pirating days and all the way up till a few decades ago, and never once had he heard him use the words 'dear' or 'poppet'. If anything, England using such a word probably meant he was drunk and telling a joke. But the brisk nature of the nation during today's meeting said nothing of being hung over or drinking.

Gilbert turned a corner expecting to see Arthur but found no trace of him. He had lost him in the large conference building. Instead, when he turned around, he saw Matthew. The eyeglassed blonde smiled at him, though it was wavering. As though it expected not to be seen.

"Matt! Vat are you doing here? Are you here to observe my awesome?" The Canadian shook his head, seeming a little surprised that Gilbert had noticed him.

"Wh-what? Oh, no. I took a room here because Arthur refused me one." The blonde looked a little hurt by this but it only showed in the lavender eyes that shone behind his glasses. "Actually, he hasn't paid much attention to me since the Francophone Act, but it doesn't matter much now, eh." Prussia smirked deviously.

"Zhen ve're going to make him notice you Matt." He wasn't a nation anymore. That meant that if he received more attention then an actual country, there was definitely something wrong.

"Wait what? What do you mean?" Gilbert grabbed the flustered man's arm.

"Ve are going over zhere! He's all polite now so he vill pay attenzen to you! If he doesn't, he vill recieve pain from me! Ze awesome Prussia!" Canada sighed a little and in his whispery voice made note of the situation.

"Well... Okay. But please don't hurt him, eh. And you don't need to be that egotistical!" Matthew found himself being dragged out of the conference building moments later by Gilbert.

"Haha! But of course I do! I am Prussia."

"Nevermind... You're just really ethnocentric." In mere minutes, they were on the raining streets of London in Gilbert's car, trying to navigate the way to Arthur's house by local map.

"Oh Arthur! I'm home!" The imposter called cheerfully out into the house. No reply came from within the building. He opened a bag of groceries and spread it across the counter. Flour, vegetable shortening, butter, milk, sugar, food colouring, baking soda, baking powder, sprinkles, icing sugar, arsenic, and cyanide. All the things needed for cupcakes. Unfortunately, as he was unable to obtain any mercury or bromide from over the counter, this would simply have to do. He pushed the poisons off to the side and started preparing some pastries. Something pleasant for the unconscious nation to wake up to.

As the aroma of short bread wafted though the air, an oven timer went off. He wished to have some fun with his counterpart before ending him. He pulled the warm and freshly baked cookies from the over and placed them on a plate next to a saucer and cup of earl grey tea. He walked down to the cellar where he found an unconscious Arthur Kirkland laying semi curled up, feet and hands bound with rope. He placed the plate on the floor and nudged the nation. Yet again, his mouth not moving, eyes closed as blood crusted on the scabbing cuts. He sat in wait, occasionally pushing or nudging the blonde. Nothing.

"Artie dear I'm afraid your tea will be cold by the time you wake up if you keeping sleeping like this." He sighed and returned upstairs. When he arrived back in the cellar, he carried with him a small knife often used for vegetable slicing. Kneeling down next to the unconscious man, he took aim at the side of his thigh. Without any drama, he pushed the knife into the quad of the Englishman, who's eyes shot open, a screech of pain coming from the now animated man. Blood gushed from the wound, soaked up by the dress pants. A sadistic smile spreading across his lips at the screams.

"Augh! Bloody hell! Where am I?" Dazed yet alert, Arthur took in his surroundings. "Untie me at once you bastard!" As soon as the word "bastard" left his lips, he was no sooner pinned against a wall, the sociopath's face an inch of his own.

"What happened last time you swore poppet? Do you really enjoy this that much?" The sing song tone turned uneven and dark, a short and shrill laugh lifting off the end of his sentence. Arthur shook his head quickly, swiftly determining his distaste at being stabbed any further. The strawberry blonde smiled happily and got off of the nation, "Good, because I really do hate having to hurt you. Especially since you take pain so well... Now then~!" His tone had once again become joyful and song like. He brought the tea over to the nation and unbound his arms.

"What the h-." Arthur stopped himself and changed his sentence. "What's with the tea and biscuits?"

"Why you missed breakfast of course, now eat up~."

"Uhm... Okay(?)." Arthur took one into his mouth, not wishing to be stabbed again and chewed slowly. "Thanks erm... Arthur?" The other laughed cheerfully.

"Yes, that is my name. Though it must be terribly confusing for you. I know!" A look of pride at his newly thought of solution overtook him. "My friends all call me Oliver, and so can you." About to reply with "What friends?" Arthur put his tongue between his teeth, not wanting to upset "Oliver". Arthur nodded and continued to eat the surprisingly delicious baking. A chime came from upstairs as the doorbell rang. Oliver hurriedly pulled a set of hand cuffs from the storage room and put one on Arthur's wrist, the other end around a nearby beam. "I'll be back later poppet, enjoy your cookies." And with that, he tossed the knife into a storing box and continued hurriedly upstairs.

**Second chapter! So, we know that Arthur isn't dead, and we all know that Prussia's awesome. If you haven't been paying much attention or haven't truly explored the Hetalia fandom, good ol' Oliver here is England's second player. I might bring in the others I might not... It all depends on whether you want me to keep going or not! Till next chapter~**


	3. The Rooming

Gilbert rang the door bell of the Englishman's home, psyching himself for the not-so-formidable task ahead him with a series of "your awesome"s.

Matthew tuned out the silverette and gazed at the lot the house was placed on. It looked so familiar, hardly anything changed since the last time he had been there. White painted cast iron chairs around a glass table on the gazebo, a neatly trimmed lawn with flowerbeds and trees placed throughout it. All of it upholding the classy and proper England of the 1890's. Why he hadn't come to visit Arthur, he wasn't quite sure, perhaps he was waiting for an invitation to do so. He had visited Francis on a regular basis and if he wasn't physically with him, they'd chat happily (en Français) over the phone. Though his relationship with England was admittedly a little awkward and Arthur had always seemed to favour America over him, it didn't mean he didn't care for the nation. Actually, he cared about everyone and England was absolutely no exception.

The door opened and cut off his thoughts a mildly confused looking Arthur standing in its wake.

"Well 'ello loves." He spoke cheerfully, a grin welcoming them warmly. "Come inside then, it's dreadfully wet out there." Prussia seemed taken aback by the idea of not having first word but took the offer and stepped inside the house. They were guided into a living area, the two men sitting on a couch nearby. One timidly and the other putting his feet on the coffee table as he sprawled.

"I really think that Arthur would like you to put your feet down, Gilbert." Canada murmured the words, nary a hint of assertion touching his voice.

"Kesese... Look at him! Does 'e look like he cares?" Canada looked up at the pink haired man, a smile remained on the usually crude lips.

"Mind? I don't mind at all dearies, make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you anything?"

"N-no. Thank you Arthur-." Prussia interrupted Canada promptly.

"A room for zhis person vould be nice! You refused him zhe rooms of your house and now you vill suffer zhe wrath of zhe awesome Preußen!" Gilbert stood up suddenly and smiled triumphantly at the shocked look on England's face.

"What a terribly rude thing for me to do! I do apologize. Take whatever room you like!" Arthur looked appalled at the behavior he had apparently partaken in with Canada before hand. "I'm ever so sorry Matthew." Prussia sat back down.

"See? I told you Matt! He doesn't stand a chance against me." Matthew sighed, wishing that the German would just be quiet for once. As Matthew was about to thank Arthur, a look of alarm filled the strawberry blonde in a matter of seconds.

"Oh butterscotch! I'm going to burn the scones!" He swiftly turned and speed walked to the kitchen, upon the door opening, the scent of warm scones travelling from its depths.

"Arthur bakes?" Canada said aloud, Prussia's expression sharing his feeling of confusion.

"Zhe limey said butterscotch?" They stared at the doorway, exchanging glances. The two of them got up and silently walked over to the door and peered into the kitchen of the other side. There stood a relieved England taking raspberry scones from the oven, fondly placing each of them on a rack. "Zhey may look pretty, but I hear from Alfred zhat zhey taste like cement." Matthew nodded, knowing to be wary of the English food.

"No matter how much maple you put on them they still taste like it too..." Just then, England turned to face them, the blonde's now blue eyes lit up like a child's. He took his pink oven mitts off his persons and placed a few scones onto a plate next to some butter.

"I didn't think that I was going to have guests to share these with, how fortunate~!" He chimed happily and placed the plate in Prussia's hands. "You may have one if you would like." Canada reached hesitantly for the plate, certainly not wishing to be rude to the older nation. He stared at the warm pastry and tore it apart, a luxurious aroma reaching through the air towards him. He bit the scone, eyes widening in surprise as he found his taste buds rejoicing over the idea that English food had not decided to take their life that day.

"Thank you Arthur!" He exclaimed happily as he took another bite. "Gilbert! England can cook, eh!" Though his voice was ever so quiet, the energy and excitement could be felt inside of each of his words. Prussia followed the Canadian's example and took a large bite of one of the scones. Eventually feeding small pieces to Gilbird who was still nestled in his hair.

"Oh, I am ever so happy that you like it! I was afraid you might not eat it..." Matthew smiled at the timid England. He liked him. He really did. And better yet, the older nation seemed to like him back for once. He wasn't sure what kind of spell Arthur had apparently mispronounced, but he was definitely enjoying these side effects.

...

This wasn't England and it wouldn't take even the stupidest to know that. Especially after tasting this cooking. Prussia studied the nation as he fed the little chick that resided on his head. Arthur and Canada picked up a conversation, much to Gilbert's surprise, Canada was eagerly contributing. Though, in the past, he never really had much to do with the young nation, Prussia had developed a fondness for the long haired blonde. A brotherly fondness of course he'd always tell himself, but some days he wasn't quite sure any more. Looking at Arthur now, he realized that maybe asking Arthur to let Matthew stay with him wasn't the brightest idea...

"Oi! You're staring off into space. Poor lad, must feel excluded." England smiled at Prussia as he was brought back from his thoughts.

"Vhat? Oh no, I vas just zhinking is all." Canada's brow furrowed in worry.

"Are you sure? It's just that you normally do your thinking out loud is all..." Gilbert sighed. He hated to see Matthew's face all scrunched up in emotion like this. His soft smile should've been all that ever touched his face, but he was a person and people have emotions. It was inevitable.

"Yes I'm sure. I have a few errands to run. Matt, come your stuff out of zhe car." Though Gilbert wasn't sure why, Matthew appeared to be taken aback by this remark but he nodded. The blonde stood up, motioning to Arthur to wait there, the Brit smiling and in turn, remaining in place.

They walked out to the car, rain dying down to a mere drizzle. Canada took his suitcase out of the trunk and turned to thank Gilbert. Much to the younger nation's surprise, the taller man grabbed his arm, dark red eyes narrowed seriously.

"Matzew. If anyzhing happens, you call me. You understand?"

"What do you mean "if anything happens."? I'm here with England."

"I-I don't know. Look. Somezhing isn't right here, I can feel zhat. I didn't have to pay attentzen during ze meeting so I watched him." Prussia gestured back to the house. "Japan vas right. Arzher isn't exactly zhe safest person on zhe planet right now. I don't know why, but he just isn't." Canada's expression changed, mild anger visible on his delicate features.

"Prussia, just because he's being nice for once doesn't mean that there's something wrong with him. I don't see why you're so concerned about me. I'm just Canada. The country everyone ignores. Maybe I want to talk to England again eh? You should stop worrying about me." He opened up the passenger seat and took his small polar bear from it.

"Matt please. You're being America right now. You don't understand a zhing I'm trying to tell you. Since vhen has Arzher been able to cook? He said 'butterscotch' for God's sake. 'Butterscotch'! Look. I'm just telling you zat if anyzhing happens I vant you to call me okay? I don't vant anyzhing to happen to you." Canada seemed confused. Prussia was too. Why did he care for the nation so much?

"Gilbert, why is that eh?" Prussia paused before finding himself unable to speak, reverting back to the egotistical attitude that helped in such situations.

"None of your business. Zhe awesome Prussia has his secrets. Just be careful or zhe awesome me vill have to do somezhing about zis." Before the phased Canadian could reply, Prussia got into the car and slammed the door, car screeching down the drive and speeding down the road, leaving Canada alone on the driveway of a madman.

**Third chapter already?! I'm evidently trying to upload these at a fast pace. Poor Canada... Prussia cares about him, he just doesn't know how to show his affections for the nation... There will not be any yaoi between them later on. Just onesided fluffy thoughts from Prussia. And I am considering having the other 2ps take their places in the later chapters slowly... As usual, please review and follow for more of zhe awesome Prussia! Because I'm actually having fun with this one.**


	4. The Involved Parties

The light blue Chevrolet screech out of the drive, Matthew's brow furrowing gently. Gilbert was certainly an odd person, but nevertheless one of the few friends he had. He sighed and turned towards the large house, red suitcase bumping over each crease in the driveway. He carried it up the stairs and set it down to open the door. He placed his bag politely in the corner and removed his boots, placing them next to it. A soft sigh left the Canadian's lips as he stood alone in the corridor. His white socks padded along the floor softly, Kumajirou clutched in his arms tightly. A gleam of light against a glass pane caught his eye. Upon closer inspection, Matthew realized that it was a picture. A picture of Arthur, Alfred and even himself. The sepia dyed scene was of them not long ago, but long enough for he and Alfred to look much smaller then the older country. Matthew couldn't help but smile as memories of the times when they had both been under England's rule. For Canada, they had been quite pleasant, immigrants coming and going. But as time went by, he and Alfred had seemed to split apart. War ravaging the other side. A jolly voice interrupted his sobering thoughts, Arthur's excitable features softening.

"Ah, that picture. I was wondering why you were taking so long poppet." His expression seemed to flicker at the sight of the people in the frame, his eyes seeming to drive a stake through it. "The fact that he'd throw that all away..." He murmured lowly, for the first time that day, anger tinting the edges of his voice.

"America? I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you, eh." England seemed little surprised.

"My, my. Did I say that aloud? Alfred hasn't done a thing. It's nothing dearie, nothing at all!" He smiled and picked up the joyful tone his voice had been carrying that day. He hummed cheerfully as he walked down the hall. A slightly off key tune of "London Bridges" resonating off of the Brit. Matthew sighed and walked in succession to the Englishman, following him back towards the living area. Happy to be near Arthur alone again, but wishing at the same time that Gilbert hadn't left him with a seed of doubt planted in his brain.

...

Munching on the shortbread, England tended to the newfound wound in his leg. Blood poisoning was not something he needed to deal with locked up in his basement. As the door to the cellar closed and the one to the house opened, he could hear a German accent shout muffled from within the vent above him, and become clearer as it travelled through the house. Prussia. Though he couldn't make out any words, here could hear an unmistakably British voice, followed by one he had to strain his ears to make sense of. He realized with surprise that this was Canada. What were Matthew and Gilbert doing here? Of course, Canada knew him well and probably was able to tell something was up. Perhaps he brought the Prussian with him as back up? Now he'd just have to wait for them to come and get him. This would work out quite nicely.

As time pushed on, Arthur realized that he had been sitting there for a good thirty minutes, the watch on his wrist ticking ever onward. They weren't coming for him. Why would they? Prussia didn't care a shred for him and Canada only went to war or did anything really if he or Alfred were involved. He hit the back of his head against the stone in frustration, groaning. Now that he actually needed help, there was none.

The opening of the front door and closing told him that they left, but the soft creak of the floor boards above his head stated otherwise. No matter who wore them, dress shoes would always make a heavy sound on the floor above, no shoes on the other hand... Of course! Matthew must've been coming for a room. Most likely on Gilbert's request. The Englishman chuckled softly. The odd crush that the ex-nation had on the quiet country could be quite amusing to watch. Even if Gilbert refused to admit loving anyone aside himself. The silverette's ego becoming so flustered but snapping right back as soon as anyone called attention to it. Acting as though it never happened.

The footsteps upstairs stopped, the heavier shoes walking a shirt distance and stopping as well. He sighed. He was going to be down here for a while. England stretched a little and winced as the cut in his leg pulled at his skin.

"Yeh need some help with that, eh?" A tall man with a cigar in his mouth stepped from another room, lighting the paper rolled poison. A casual red button up shirt lay over his exterior, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, ripped jeans a dim blue. He walked over to him, light reflecting off his glasses and long blonde hair tied back by an elastic. A light French accent hovering on his voice.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" the blue eyed man glared at him, annoyance covering his expression.

"Don't play dumb with me. You want help or not?" He grabbed a fist full of England's shirt, and grabbing the knife from the storage box, cut off a small ragged strip. He cut away the pant leg around the cut, dressing the wound in the white fabric, dying it red. He wiped his bloody hands on Arthur's pants and stared at him. Icy eyes judging silently.

"No, really, who are you and why are you in my basement?" The tall man sighed.

"Name's Mathieu.-" Arthur cut him off.

"Don't tell me..."

"Tu vas fermer ta putain de gueule tu Anglais! You want me to tell you or not damn it?" England nodded feebly at the sudden surge of anger at being interrupted. The man's expression seemed to soften, the blonde sighing a little. "Sorry about that. My name's Mathieu Williams. I already know who you are. I came here with my old man. He said we were going to have some fun, but I didn't think he meant tying people up and kidnapping them."

"S-so you're going to help me?" Arthur spoke quietly, not wanting to spark the fierce temper again.

"No..." The blonde scratched his head. "But I can keep you company." The sudden kindness of the blonde surprised the older nation, but in a good way. He soon learned that the red clad man often went by Canada as well, and much to England's surprise, there were more too.

"So you're telling me that the lunatic who tied me up is also, well, me?" England spoke disbelievingly, fingers fishing around on the plate for the last shortbread. "Canada" nodded, tired eyes gazing at a dirty fingernail.

"He's not crazy though. He's honestly a nice person, just a little over the top and frantic is all..."

"He's a little more then frantic if you ask me." Arthur muttered and finished off the last biscuit on the plate.

**End of Chapter 4! Sorry about the wait... School's just pretty demanding this time of year is all... So now 2p Canada has made an appearance! I decided to use the French respective of his name to avoid possible confusions between Mathieu and Matthew since they have closer appearances then Arthur and Oliver as well as most of the other 2ps. As usual, please leave suggestions and opinions in the reviews! Au revoir mes amis!**


	5. The Doubtful

Gilbert's speedometer ripped up to the red line as he drove the Chevrolet out into the country side. Not far out of town, was where he and Ludwig were staying, all he needed was a little down time. Time to think about the various odd remarks made by the fuchsia England. There was no way in hell that leaving Canada there had been a good idea, but what was he supposed to do? Barge into the nation's house, sling the maple lover over his shoulder and leave? Of course not! Though he felt like it would be an awesome thing to do, it was also stupid beyond belief. He turned up a dirt road and slowed his vehicle as small pebbles flew from the ground. Why he even had a mild hope that Germany might help him later, he wasn't sure. But England was scared of him right? Maybe he could do something to convince him. Apologizing about that time he had been caught with Southern Italy and traumatizing the other Italian wouldn't be one of them though.

He made a sharp left turn, Gilbird chirping avidly at being flung out of the Prussian nest. Gilbert stopped the car immediately, cooing the small chick as he helped it nestle back into his hair. Upon doing the deed, he pushed down the gas and a short ways down, turned up a cobble driveway.

The car door slammed behind him as he walked up to the lodge they were temporarily renting for the next month. Or, as long as the conference would last. He unlocked the door and to his surprise, found Feliciano petting a small grey tabby. A cheerful smile was what Prussia was greeted with as he walked by the Italian.

"Ve~ I found a kitten Gilbert! Hm? What's wrong?" The Autumn haired man dropped into worry at the forlorn expression on the usually egotistical man.

"It's nozhing Italy. I'm fine." Realizing how down beat he sounded, he picked the small bird out of his hair and patted its head, smiling at how innocent the yellow fluff ball looked.

"It's not nothing. You'll make her upset if you don't lighten up~! Why not smile!" Italy flashed a large grin at him, the man's boy like behaviour only enhanced as he pointed at the cat during his sentence. When the Prussian didn't smile, Italy stood up, knocking playfully on the silverette's forehead with his knuckles. "Ciao? Is Mr. Prussia a'home yet? He seems to've been replaced with Sweden!" Feliciano studied him with scrunched eyebrows. Prussia rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Prußen cannot be replaced Feli. I am too awesome to be Sveden as vell might I add." Italy smiled cheerfully.

"Good! Then tell me what's wro- Ve~! Kitty! You can't go back outside! You'll get hurt!" Italy dove after the cat that was previously nonchalantly walking through the door that Prussia had forgotten to close. Said person sighed as he watched the Italian struggle with the cat on the ground. Having someone to actually care about this problem was probably too good to be true. He'd have to figure something out himself. It was his mistake, so it would have to be his solution wouldn't it?

...

The plate grew empty as Arthur and Matthew chatted on, the young polar nation smiling happily. Forgetting Prussia's words of advice for the time being. They were after all, nonsense. He wrapped himself in a soft crocheted blanket, the sky dark with a blanket of grey clouds. England sipped his tea and spoke with the younger who felt quite content with listening and nodding occasionally, petting the soft white polar bear in his arms like a cat. The cerulean eyes of the strawberry blonde drew him in as he let the Englishman drone on about the time he ran out of flour and the store wasn't open so he had to wait till the next day to bake. If anyone else had told him this story, Matthew would've yawned and fallen asleep. Only to apologize and ask them to tell him what happened again. Hearing Arthur talk to him at all was enough to make him pay attention to the dilemma filled story of how he wasn't able to bake for sixteen hours at once. He was brought out of his thoughts by Arthur afterwards however.

"And how have you been poppet, surely not overworking yourself I hope." The strawberry blonde smiled gently, head tilting to the side.

"Pardon? Oh um..." Matthew had never been asked this question before. Or at least not that he remembered. Unsure of how to talk about himself and not another person's issues, all he could do was murmur the word, "Fine".

"Oh, well there is surely more than that happening dearie! Next to Ivan, you're the largest country in the world! There is surely more then that."

"I guess everything's okay." He had been waiting for this moment for so long. Now that it had come, he wasn't sure what to say. Arthur smiled and stood up.

"Well then that's great deary. As long as nothing is wrong I suppose I can take that as an answer. More tea?" The Englishman brushed off the topic and stretched modestly. Matthew shook his head, though quite relived to have the topic of discussion taken off of his direct persons.

"I think I should place my belongings in my room if that would be okay, Arthur." The older nation smiled and walked to the foyer, returning shortly after with Canada's suitcase.

"Of course poppet, the guest room is this way."

Matthew followed Arthur down a short hall, paintings and symbols of war placed in an orderly fashion on it's surface. England quite certainly would seem hungry for blood from the looks of his decor deeper within the house, but none of it was reflected in the blonde at the time and not often in the meetings either, though it was only if you knew him would you see that side of him. The one not thirsty for land and resources. Canada sighed and let the strawberry blonde guide him down the hallway to a room on the left.

"Oh dear!" Arthur exclaimed in surprise, but quickly recovering himself from seeing that what once was used as a guest room now acted as a storage. "I do suppose it's been a while since anyone's stayed here... My apologies Matthew. You can leave your things in my room if you would like." Matthew nodded politely.

"Thank you Arthur. A-actually..." Canada stared at him shoes and murmured softly, realizing how childish he felt around the old nation. Maybe just once he could request it, once won't hurt him, right? "I-I was wonder if I could sleep in your room, like Alfred and I used to." Much to Canada's surprise, England smiled at him cerulean eyes softened from their excited state.

"I don't see why not dearie. The only problem is, I have only one bed in my room. I'm not sure where the spare mattress in the basement is either..." He clucked his tongue gently as he tried to come up with a solution. Large eyebrows furrowing on his forehead.

"I could help you look-."

"No." Arthur spoke surprisingly firmly, eyes narrowed. "I will not allow you to venture within the basement poppet. I forbid it." The voice that had been that of a bird moments before turned quite sinister, Matthew backing off of the topic immediately. Rather frightened by the sudden change in personality, Canada nodded and remained silent, as though he were a child being punished. "Alright Mr. Williams?"

"Y-yes." Matthew faced yet another surprise, Mr. Williams? Only the Prime Minister or Queen ever referred to him as such, never a fellow nation, let alone Arthur of all people. Though yes their relation wasn't the best, he had never been referred to so formally by England. The strawberry blonde sighed and put a hand on Canada's shoulder.

"I apologize. I just cannot have you in the basement dearie, I didn't mean to upset you." He smiled gently at Matthew, the younger blonde unsure of what to think. These sudden mood swings were quite unlike his tsundere friend, the only true changes in mood being anger or when drunk.

"It's fine..." Canada spoke softer then usual, wishing Prussia hadn't left him alone after all.

Then again, he hadn't really talked to the Englishman for a good few decades, he could easily have changed. Couldn't he? He must just miss the old England is all. Canada gave a faltering smile to the nation. Silence followed for the time after, Matthew unsure of how to respond to Arthur any further. The older yet shorter man seemed in a similar situation as he briskly walked past the Canadian.

"I will prepare some lunch I suppose. Come and get it when you are ready, and Matthew?" The spectacled man nodded meekly. "Please stay away from the basement. It's dangerous down there. I'm very sorry dearie, I never meant to frighten you." This was the England Canada had been around in his earlier years, the one he missed. He gazed at the floor.

"I'm sorry Arthur." England laughed cheerfully, easing the tension in the air.

"There's no need for that poppet~. You don't need to apologize to me, you know that I care for you and your brother deeply Matthew, nothing will change that." He gave Matthew a kind smile, turning on a dress shoe heel towards the kitchen. "I'll make some sandwiches and tea for us dearie." Canada nodded.

"Thank you Arthur, you're very kind." something in the air changed momentarily, something so sudden that it left as quickly as it arrived.

"It's been a long time since someone's ever called me that poppet," He glanced behind him, Canada suppressing a shudder at the dark gleam in the nation's eyes. "But we aren't made of what people call us dearie, it's our actions that define us." The man walked down the hallway, London Bridges vibrating uneasily through the air behind him.

...

**Holy crap it's been a month since upload... I just got stuck with the story for a while. Sorry! So Mattie is starting to experience the side of Oliver that Gilbert warned him about. I know I'm leaning over to the maniacal side of Ollie's personality here, but I needed to if I was going to continue writing. (It's impossibly hard for me to write cheery characters for extensive periods of time ;-; I usually just kill them all off or they're sideline characters... Anyways! Enjoy this chapter and as always, please feel free to suggest things! You guys can always help improve my writing. I plan to have the next chapter out A LOT sooner too.**


	6. The Hitman

The grungy dog tags around his neck clinked softly together as his fingers ran down the chain, calluses rough on the metal. The scent of cigarette smoke thick in the air, choking his lungs as he sat in the conference room. He stared over his red tinted sunglasses out the window to the damp London streets.

"Disgusting..."

"Hm? And'a what is your problem?" A glint of purple came off of the other man's eye, a wicked smirk on his features as he laid down an ace, claiming poker chips from the centre of the table. "Figlio di Troia! You will'a answer me when I speak to you!" A knife planted itself in front of the brunette's face in the wood of the window frame.

"Chill it Luciano, not everyone is under zhe Mafia." A blonde man next to the brunette tapped out a cigar on the table and threw his cards down to be shuffled again.

"Silencio Lutz. Why'a don't you go and'a shoot something." Lutz scowled and threw the cigar to the ground to light another.

"You vant somezhing shot, do it yourself. Allen." He brought the attention back to the brunette. "Vhat is wiv you? Normally you'd be flipping shit over losing zhis." Allen took the knife out of the window frame and stabbed it into his cards on the table, a dull thud echoing in the room.

"Keep your damn knives to yourself Luci." Before the Italian could reply, Allen picked the nail studded club up from the side of his chair, scarlet eyes narrowing. "Or I don't play nice anymore. Now where the hell are Matt and Oliver?" A thick French accent heavy with smoke and alcohol replied.

"Ohn? So you actually care for them now? Or do you just want to drive anozher bullet through your dear frère, non? Though I do admit they 'ave been gone for quite a long time."

"Canada not worth worry about. He probably killed whatever tried to kidnap him, aru. Oliver is defenseless though..." Xiao's worry showed mildly for the two countries as he sat in a chair across the room, picking at a loose thread in the sleeve of jacket. The room remained silent as everyone processed this, unsure of whether they wanted to deal with it now.

"Hey Kuro." The black clad Japanese man glanced up at the Italian. "What'a do you think?"

"Find Matt. Reave Oriver however, he annoys me." Luciano nodded and stood up, Lutz following shortly after.

"Sì, andiamo. Maybe we'll'a get a chance to slaughter the Limey hm?" Kuro stood and pushed his chair in wordlessly, brown clad Italian leading the way out of the door. Moments later however slammed against the conference room wall, Allen's face inches from Luciano's, forearm on his throat, leg placed between the auburn haired Italian's.

"Hell. No. That's my brother and God knows what you'll do to him. Take out England and I rip out your eyes and piss on your grave, anyone kills him it's gonna be me, got it?" The hairs on the back of Allen's neck rose as a metal blade pressed gently on his skin.

"America, you can be croser to this katana then you rir prefer if you do not unhand him. I shourd have finished you off years ago." A calm and cold voice rang in his ear as Kuro pressed the blade against him. In disregard for the shorter man, Allen swiftly brought his knee up on the Italian, Luciano grunting in pain, wincing.

"Is'a that all you got, you bastard?" Kuro brought the blade up but moments later was thrown against a wall. A tall silverette man with a red ribbon tied in his hair staring somberly at the situation.

"Enough. If you all are so vorried zhen go and deal vith zhem yourselves. I come late and zhis is vhat I see, honestly. Zhere is no end to your blood shed is zhere?" He spoke conditionally and shortly, sitting down moments after, silent aside the words spoken moments earlier.

"Prußen is right. Shall ve go, Luciano, Kuro?" Germany helped Japan to his feet, only to be pushed off by the shorter man, who in turn however nodded in agreement.

The room slowly emptied of the nations aside Prussia and Russia, the two remaining in silence, waiting for the future events to unfold.

...

Alfred threw his bag into the corner of his hotel room, he had gone out with a few other nations for an afternoon drink. All was fine. Hanging up his jacket, he pulled a few of the legal documents off of the desk in the corner and looked them over, various laws the other countries or his own citizens had proposed, how boring.

He took off the tan suit jacket and white dress shirt, pulling a more casual button up onto his persons. Picking up the hotel phone, he made an order for a large burger and fries from the kitchen and got his wallet ready.

He sighed and sat down, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He pulled out a pen to start signing legislature when an abrupt knocking on his door interrupted his thoughts. He stood up and walked over to it. The food couldn't possibly be ready now, could it? Placing a hand on the shotgun in his khakis by habit, he opened the door.

"'Ello?" He found himself pushed back into the room almost immediately and the door slammed quickly, a tall man in a black hoodie standing in its wake. A quick kick to the knees sent him down as he fumbled for his gun. He whipped it out and pointed it at the man who pulled a nailed bat out of a backpack on his back. Alfred pushed himself back against the wall and stood up. "Who the hell are you?!" He pointed the gun steadily at the target, glaring icily over the rim of his glasses. The man pulled his hood off to reveal brown hair and scarlet eyes, he took the hoodie off entirely and threw it to the floor.

"I'm Allen Jones. Bounty hunter, hitman, and master of disguise." Allen smirked and played with the bat in his hands.

"Dude, you're really, well not. Anyone can just put on a hoodie, like really." This appeared to catch the brunette off guard as he stood, trying to think of a comeback. Allen scowled at him.

"Yeah well-." A rapping against the door again sounded and Allen dove into the closet. Alfred walked up to the door and opened, more cautiously this time, hiding the gun behind his back. A young bell boy with a platter and trolley stood in front of him.

"Your food sir. Would you like the pay now or after with your hotel bill?"

"Uh with the bill, thanks." He gave the young Brit a tip from his pocket and brought the food inside his room, concealing the hand gun. He placed it on the table and the boy left. Allen walked out of the closet and resumed his threatening stance.

"I'm going to-."

"Yeah yeah whatevs bro. You want some?" Alfred took the lid off the platter, completely ignoring the previous actions of Allen. Allen took a look at the meal Alfred had ordered and scowled in disgust.

"You seriously eat this stuff? I don't do meat or high calories." Alfred dropped the fry back on the plate and took the shotgun back to his now slightly greased hand.

"Ya know? I was thinking that we could get along and talk this out over some food, but apparently not. You either bite the burger or bite the bullet 'kay?" Allen tackled the blonde to the bed with a shout, pinning him down on it's soft surface. "You have no idea how gay this probably looks right now."

"Shut it brat! Do you have to comment on every damn little thing?" Alfred smirked, perhaps hanging around England during his colonial years had done him some good after all.

"Hm, I don't know, do I?" He laughed a little and kneed the brunette in the stomach, throwing him off his persons. He stumbled off the bed and pointed the gun yet again at the perpetrator who had picked up his baseball bat in his right hand. "Hit me with that and I call self defence. Do you even know who I am?" Alfred brought his tone down to a serious level, realizing this guy was serious. Allen laughed and tapped the head of his bat on his palm.

"When I said I was a hitman I serious Jones, it's how we do it in America, ain't it now doll face?"

"Huh? H-how did you actually figure out who I was?" Alfred stammered, he wasn't expecting to be addressed by his name at all, more of the fleeing in fear because he was a nation with a shotgun.

"We're the same damn person you idiot, we really don't look that different. Am I really this oblivious? Wow. What hair dye would you consider close to yours anyway?" Same person? What the hell could that mean? His eyes widened, he fussed open the window and looked back at Allen.

"You sure as hell better not be responsible for Arthur you bastard." He took leave and jumped from the second story, shotgun thrown in his khakis as he ran down the street.

Arthur. He was in trouble, definitely not trying to be a fairy. He sprinted down the street, busy with people as he pushed between them.

"Jones!" He heard a shout a ways behind him, a sunglassed brunette pushing through the crowds at the end of the block behind him. The blonde quickly sprinting in the other direction. His breath became laboured as he ran, thankful he in fact did not eat the hotel food. It was only when his extremities became numb that he slowed his pace it was enough to see his brother walking into a store just ahead of him.

"Alfred? What's wrong?" Alfred turned expecting to see his pursuer a few metres behind him, yet saw no one, which is what worried him more.

"Mattie, what are you doing here?" The Canadian smiled fondly.

"I need to pick up some brown sugar. I also ran out of maple syrup earlier this week. It's for my oatmeal for breakfast, eh."

"Ew... Oats... Ah shit! Look I need to go, okay? I can explain later. Good bye!" As America sprinted away, he managed to hear a last few words of his brother's.

"Yeah, good talk." Alfred felt guilty to leave Matthew like this, but he had a sadistic nation replica on his tail, somewhere. He ran onwards till he arrived at the English Nation's house. He jogged up the drive and caught his breath quickly before opening the door.

"Arthur? Arthur!" He called the Englishman's name and entered the house, not noticing Canada's shoes in the corner. It was oddly quiet in the house as the floor boards creaked beneath his shoes. Alfred pulled the shotgun out of his khakis and lowered it in front of him, a stealthier stance for more of an assassin then a hero. He swept easily through each of the rooms until he came across a final door. The basement. This was a door that as a kid, England refused to let him down, and as a kid, Alfred happily listened. He wasn't a kid anymore though.

It creaked gently as he opened it, a steep stone stairwell falling downwards before him. Step by step, he slowly and silently advanced down the stairs, his breathing and heartbeat pounding in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins. At the bottom of the stairs, laid a door, an old oaken door that seemed as ancient as the country who owned it. Index finger on the trigger, he opened the brass accented door to see a large room, pentagram carved into the floor, a dusty leather bound book laying in its centre. Not something he wanted to mess with right now. He turned the corner and in the dim light, saw a man slouched against the wall, blonde hair glinting softly.

"Arthur...?" He held his gun at the ready and walked towards the body. As he became closer, the man's features became clearer to prove it was indeed Arthur. Not whatever pink imposter Alfred had conversed with during the meeting. "Arthur! Wake up." The man's peaceful expression of sleep scrunched, thick eyebrows ruffled. At least he wasn't dead.

"Oh dear..." A voice caused America to jump, a sadistic smile on the pink clad man's face who had snuck up behind him. "I can't have you disturbing him dearie, it would cause a commotion. How about you take a quick nap as well, you look awfully tired." The other Arthur took a pill from a small bottle in his pant pocket. Stepping on the gun as he knelt down, he pushed Alfred against the wall, attempting to pry his mouth open with another hand to force feed him the pills. After several minutes of struggling and kicking at the imposter, the strawberry blonde started choking him out, and as soon as Alfred's mouth open in a gasp for air, he was slipped the pills, sleep over coming him much faster then he had expected.

...

**Attack of the 2Ps! So here's your next chapter. Ollie is just having fun drugging people and kidnapping them, why does everyone hate him? You will find out my pretties! I found it a little odd in my writing that Alfred here fought back quite well but yet Arthur went down with hardly a word. Then again Alfred was armed and not approached on an empty midnight street by a mad man with a knife, while America is used to break ins and entries. That's my thoughts I suppose. No Prussian POV this time around even though he's probably one of my favourites to write from since he is so awesome.**

** So the 2Pverse is searching for Canada and man tracking England, England's down some bad stuff in real history so I've decided to play off of that. Oliver isn't a psychopath. He is a sociopath. His bouts of insanity are triggered not planned. **

**I decided to bring in the 2Ps directly now so I think we should have some fun now. America is obviously down for the count and has ended up in the cellar with England. Surely our oblivious Canadian hero will do something. Right?**

**That's all for now! These keep getting longer and longer... Until chapter 7!**


	7. The New Bearings

England's eyes fluttered open at the sound of shouting across the cellar.

"I told you I wasn't going to hurt anyone!" Mathieu's anger was prominent as he shouted, invisible to Arthur's eye around a corner. "I'll help you since I know how it feels Arthur, but this is going too far!"

"Mathieu please!" The unmistakably British voice sounded desperate as it pleaded. "You need to understand, he just showed up! I didn't have anything to do with this! Ah!" Oliver let out a sharp gasp, a thud resounding in Arthur's ears. He glanced over and noticed he wasn't alone. As Oliver begged the other dopple ganger in the other room, he took a closer look at his new cellmate.

"Alfred?!" He gave him one of Canada's whispery shouts and the younger nation scrunched his eyebrows, eyes squinting open. He opened his mouth in a wide smile, glasses lopsided on his face.

Fortunately seeming to get the point of being quiet, Alfred looked as relieved as Arthur felt. "Oh thank the queen... I never thought I'd be so happy to see you in my life Alfred."

"Iggy, what the hell happened to you?" Arthur realized the nation must've noticed his injuries and sighed, changing the position of his stiffening leg that had been splayed out in his sleep.

"I'm fine, and don't call me that. Keep your voice down, they're over there." He flicked his eyes towards the other room. From within, the two nations listened further to the conversation.

"Mathieu please! I just... I don't know what I wanted! It was all supposed to be ever so simple! Don't hurt me, please! You're all I have left. I didn't mean to!" The voice was frantic, almost in tears. In the opening, Oliver could be seen backing away from the Canadian, the taller blonde with a wooden hockey stick in his hands, the end sharpening after the tape almost in the appearance of a scythe.

"Vous piece de merde! Don't you dare compare me to him!" The Canadian practically screamed the words at the shorter Englishman. "I am nothing like my brother! I never will be either." He pulled the hockey stick up as if for a slap shot and lunged forwards, stopping dead in his tracks a foot from the man.

"I thought you were better then this Mathieu..." The plaid dressed man froze, staring blankly forward before shaking his head, dropping the hockey stick at his feet.

"I am. I'm sorry Arthur, I don't know what got into me." He spoke gruffly. The strawberry blonde looked relieved as he straightened his posture. "I'm not a thing like him, I don't want to be either..." Oliver stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around Mathieu, the taller of them flinching before backing away from the embrace.

"It's okay poppet... You're not a thing like Allen, you're you. I will go and get you some tea to help calm the both of us down." He nodded and watched the Brit leave silently turning to see that England and America had woken from their drug induced sleep. He walked over and through the entry way towards Arthur, ignoring the other blonde.

"Is your leg okay?" He spoke shortly and took the piece of shirt off of Arthur's leg. England nodded and let the Canadian clean his leg with a cloth. America watched as this took place, his expression telling England that he couldn't believe this was the same person from mere seconds ago.

The long haired blonde pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his breast pocket and slid them up his nose, shadows from their rims accentuating the bags beneath his eyes. He pulled a gauzed bandage from his pocket and attempted to roll Arthur's pant leg up, the dress pants only reaching up as high as his knee, a few inches below the wound. The red clad man but his lip in frustration. He stared at the injured leg for a short while before coming to a conclusion.

"Er... Could you possibly take off your pants?" The Canadian went red in the face and looked down.

"W-what? I certainly won't! Or should I say that I can't with my hands bound back like this." Alfred's laughs could no longer be contained as he stared at the men in their awkward state.

"Oh geez dude, I've heard of "interesting" things happening in custody before, but I didn't think that they would be that abrupt about it, ha!" Mathieu flushed a deep scarlet along with Arthur.

"O-of not course you git! I-I don't think that's what he meant at all! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" England stammered and America laughed it off.

"'Kay, 'kay, fine! If it's mutual then I guess I'll just ask for a few more of those pills so you two can have your fun."

"Oh shut it yankee! Or I'll... I'll do..."

"What're you gonna do?" England tried to gather his words together, mind a jumble at the thoughts on the table.

"I-I'll do... Something! Okay? Something, you bloody little knave!" Mathieu placed himself between the two nations and chuckled, sitting between the two.

"You two sound ridiculous! Calm down."

"Yeah, says the guy who tried to sling a hockey scythe at a sweater vested prick." He flinched at Alfred's muttered words but said nothing. "Fine, fine, don't give me the cold shoulder about it, geez. Who are you anyways?" The Canadian placed a hand on his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Is it obvious or somethin'?" England looked him in the eye and nodded slowly, an exasperated sigh coming from Mathieu.

"Dieu, porquois... Hey, you have a country living above you, eh. Sound even somewhat familiar?"

"What? No. You can't be Mattie! Mattie's all shy and stuff, you're a bad ass! Then again so was that guy who chased me down here too..." Mathieu's eyes widened over the rim of his glasses. "Some guy attacked me in my hotel room, carried a bat and called me doll face before trying to murder me. Called himself by my name, that's how I ended up here."

"No... He can't be here. I need to warn Arthur..." He stood up and gave England the gauze. "I'm sure you can figure this out right?" Without another word, he walked up the stairs and out of the cellar. The door closed and England stared at the bandage in his lap. Then back at his hands still tightly bound Behind him and around the support beam. Groaning in frustration as the red of the blood dyed his forest green pants brown.

...

"Oh hurry it'a up! I'm bored." Luciano complained as he sat in an armchair in the the corner of the room.

"You're zhe only vone here who has any idea how to read Latin, vhat do you expect us to do?" The German sat amongst the books and scowled, chewing on the end of his cigar.

"It's'a this fancy little thing that they'a call "Google". Start translating with it. Ugh I'm too hungry to'a do work, when is it'a pasta time?" The light brunette sprawled dramatically in the chair, legs kicked over one of the arms as he draped himself across it. "If that Americano bastard took the book'a with him then someone is'a gonna die tonight-."

"I found it Itary-San." Kuro stood and spoke, holding a book in his hand.

"Itinerantur inter dimensiva..." The Italian mutter the title on the cover. "Perfetto! Just'a what we need." A grin spread across Luciano's face as he flipped open the pages, eyes skimming over the Latin so similar to his own language.

"I don't know how Allen found zhe book so quickly. He vasn't even here vhen ve got 'ere." A cigar hit the ground as Lutz spat it out, licking his lips for the last of the nicotine laced poison. The Italian ignored him and finished translating through the first couple spells from the book that had once resided on Oliver's shelf, his eyes lighting up.

"Found it. Now let's'a go and have some fun hm?"

...

Prussia sat down on a cush brown couch, listening to Italy coo and play with his "rescued" cat. The door creaked open and Ludwig walked through the door, his military jacket in a bag on his back, a black T-shirt on his persons.

"West! Vhere have you been?" The taller German hiccupped a little and ran a hand through his slicked hair.

"Had zhe drinks vith Alfred and Antonio. Arzher didn't come zhough. Vonder vhy..." Germany seemed unconcerned about the usually alcohol friendly Brit. Prussia took this as a window.

"Ah vell you see Luwig he vas baking in 'is house." The typically crisp German laughed, alcohol clouding his breath.

"Don't make me laugh Gilbert! Why would 'e of all people choose baking over beer? Zhat's zhe most ridiculous zhing I have ever heard." Italy set the cat down gently and walked up to the blonde.

"Ve~ Germany! What's so funny?" The now quite obviously drunk man couldn't gain hold of his composure and laughed uncontrollably, using the tan walls as support.

"'E, 'e just said Arzher baked!" Feliciano appeared to be confused.

"Che cosa vuol dire?" The ginger looked at Prussia expectantly.

"I don't speak Italian, depp." Ludwig escorted himself to his room, carrying on about Arthur and baking. "Blödes arschloch..." Prussia muttered the words in his mother tongue under his breath, going to look for a Corona in the fridge.

Walking out to the car, he looked inside his brother's to see a six pack or so laying open in the passenger's seat. He sighed and took the empty cans out of the car. They were in England so yes they were allowed to have some alcohol while driving, but not a flat of it. He carried the cans over to the recycling and dropped them in one after the other. When he noticed that one was heavier then the others, he tipped it back and dumped the contents into his own mouth, swallowing English craft beer. Walking back into the house, he found Italy had returned to his cat and paid no mind to the German.

Prussia sighed and sat down in the homey kitchen. He needed a plan and he needed one now. He needed someone who knew England exceptionally well and would take him seriously. With that criteria in mind, he could only think of Matthew. Alfred would never take him seriously and Francis would disregard him for not being a nation. He could ask Lovino for help, but that would result in the Italian cowering in fear of his senior nation. No matter who he turned to, there would always be something wrong with the idea. He hit his head on the table. An angry chirp from Gilbird being its response.

"I'm sorry chick, I just have nozhing awesome to zhink of. Hm? Yes, oh of course!" He listened to the little bird intently though the puff ball made no real noise. "Japan, he isn't one to start a fight but I'm sure he can help somehow." Help stood up and scooped the chick into his hand with a palm to place inside his hair again. He drank down the remaining Corona and walked out of the house, triumphant at coming up with at least a segment of his plan. "Let us go and avenge zhe personality of Arzher or somezhing!" He loaded himself into the Chevrolet and ripped down the dirt road to find Kiku.

...

**Next chapter! Prussia has a plan segment! A very small segment at that. I am aware that the language has turned for the worse because if anyone has translated the words on this story from the other languages then they know that most of these are worse then "butterscotch, damn, and hell". Mathieu has even thrown something similar to that of the "F bomb" (for those who are sheltered or linguistically sensitive) in there once or twice.**

**So now as the story unfolds, we realize that Oliver apparently does have a reason for his actions and Mathieu has some issues with being 2P. Arthur's relief of seeing Alfred is quite short lived as he realizes it's Alfred of all people (at least it wasn't France England, at least it wasn't France). Luciano and the 2P axis have obviously become more of an important role in the story (maybe) and Luci is evidently a spoiled little mafia child that has his allies do the work for him.**

**That's all for this chapter! As usual I'm always willing to take in requests for future plot since you guys make my story better with every suggestion! Ciao~!**


	8. The Sickle

Oliver sat quietly, observing the sleeping nation calmly. Arthur's dark eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, chest rising and falling gently beneath the dark green suit. The peaceful expression on his face said he slept well, eyes unmoving, dreamless. A soft smile covered his lips as he watched. He looked as a though he were a child, not a nation at all.

Matthew had gone to the store, taking a pair of casual shoes versus his snow boots which were left neatly at the door. All leaving Oliver with a general sense of peace. This was where he belonged, a place where people at least seemed to care for his presence. A place where he wouldn't witness arguments that would quickly turn to violence. He admitted that even he too would get caught up in the heat at times as hard as he tried not to. A loud shout interrupted his thoughts as the front door opened.

"Arthur? Arthur!" Oliver's blue eyes widened and he hid swiftly, heart racing as voice cut out, footsteps creaking on the floorboards above. Had he been found out this quickly? How? His alibi was believable, and aside kidnap the nation and take his place at a meeting, he hadn't done anything wrong.

He looked around his self and the environment, spying a bottle of Mathieu's sleeping pills, he ducked out of his hiding spot momentarily to sweep the bottle into his pocket, hiding just in time to hear the cellar door open and the safety unlock on a handgun. Oliver crouched behind a pile of storage boxes, holding his breath as he watched Alfred walk through the entrance to the other room.

"Arthur?" The American rushed forwards upon seeing the nation, and much to Oliver's relief, ignoring his presence. "Arthur! C'mon, wake up." Oliver moved silently from behind the boxes that smelt quite heavily of old cardboard. He didn't have anything on his persons, and the American had a gun, but he knew too much. If this one got away, he was ruined.

"Oh dear..." The words fell from his lips before he consciously thought them, body carrying out an imaginary plan he never knew existed to the letter. "I can't have you waking him dearie. It would cause a commotion." America spun around, backing against the wall, speechless as Oliver advanced on him. "You look awfully tired, why not take a nap as well?" Arthur felt the chalky white sleeping pills and their smooth surface as he pulled them out of the bottle. At least these wouldn't hurt the boy.

Stepping on the gun, Oliver tried to move the American's jaw to an open position, said nation of course refused, kicking Oliver in the stomach.

"Oh come now." Oliver got back his air and felt the same surge of what one may call indecency attempt to fill him. The same one that urged him to take the catering knife to England's face. "A few pills aren't going to hurt you." Before he knew what had happened, he had moved his forearm from Alfred's chest to his neck, the blonde beneath him gasping desperately for air. He shoved his fingers into the gaping mouth and got of the American, the pills kicking in almost immediately.

Oliver stood up shakily, breath heavy as he adjusted himself. What had he done? He stared at the two unconscious nations, wordlessly grabbed some more rope and bound the taller of the two to the piping. Turning away from his work, he found Mathieu, staring at him. The red clad blonde didn't say a thing. Neither did Oliver. Time passed between the two of them as slowly as it took to form words describing their disgust and explanation. When the words finally came out, they were quiet and shaky, as though they had forced their way into the world.

"Why... Why would you..?" Mathieu stared at the ground a foot or so from Oliver, icy eyes piercing holes in it and Oliver's emotions. "This wasn't part of the plan Arthur. What did he do wrong?" He looked Oliver directly in the eyes now, his voice clear.

"I-I'm sorry Mathieu. He just can't invite himself into a house like that. It's impolite."

"What's impolite is drugging people and locking them in the basement. What on Earth were you thinking?" The nation spoke with an unnerving lowness, his temper hardly contained in his words. Hairs bristling on his neck, he could feel the tension building from the Canadian who glared at him, an intimidating appearance about him without his reading glasses on.

"I can't erase his memory dearie, if he told anyone he could get us both killed! It would be horrid!"

"Know what?" The Canadian turned away and walked out the opening. "It's fine. It's not like you've killed him or something. I just need some fresh air. I'm going for a walk in town." Mathieu took a few breaths, calming himself before the downfall.

"You can't." Though he knew he shouldn't be denying Mathieu of a relief from his stress, the older nation stepped between him and the basement door. "What if he comes back? What if you meet him on the street? Just because this world's Canada is overly caring and has mistaken me for his father doesn't mean that He won't put up a fight if it's needed. I'm rather afraid I cannot let you leave this house poppet." Mathieu glared at him.

"So you're telling me you dragged me across a dimension to stay in a basement eh?" The Canadian pulled the shorter man closer to him by the collar of the green formal wear.

"N-no! I need you in case I needed help of course!" He spoke frantically, his nose nearly touching the tall man's.

"You need help with killing people you get my brother, not me. Vous comprenez Angleterre?" His accent thickened as it dropped into his second language, the only word Oliver could understand being "Angleterre" what Francoise had called him as kids.

"Ah yes dearie, I just thought that-."

"I told you I wasn't going to hurt anyone!" Accent gruff as he abruptly shouted the words. "I'll help you since I know how it feels, but this has gone too far!"

"Mathieu please! You need to understand! He just showed up. I didn't have anything to do with this- Ah!" Oliver took a sharp gasp of air as Mathieu slammed him against the wall, winding the Englishman. "Please! It just happened! I did the first thing that came to me? Please..." Oliver begged, cerulean eyes pleading as he got his air back.

"Pas de l'enfer! You had no need to drug him and tie him up. You could've just walked upstairs and evaded all of his questions like a normal person would! Not jam my sleeping pills down his throat." Throwing him to the floor, the blonde picked up his hockey stick which laid next to his room. Oliver pushed himself away from the man, getting to his feet as he backed away, only to be thrown against the wall again.

"No! Allen, don't hurt me! I never meant for it to happen! One thing after another and..." The nation's voice died off as Mathieu's face became dangerously close. His breath cool as his eyes that pierced into Oliver's.

"'The hell did you just call me?" Realizing his mistake, he ducked away from the hockey stick as it swung down, hitting the stone hard. Getting himself out of swinging distance of the stick, he watched as Mathieu walked steadily towards him, twirling the stick in a hand before stopping it mid-spin. The illegally bent and sharpened stick looking as blood thirsty as the man who carried it.

"I just-. I don't know what I wanted! It was an accident I swear! I didn't mean to! Don't hurt me, you're all I have." The tears bubbled behind Oliver's eyes as the weapon wielding Canadian screamed back at him, accent heavy in his rage.

"Vous piece de merde! Don't you dare compare me to him! I'm nothing like my brother, and I never will be either!" He lunged forwards, hockey stick at the ready, Oliver saying what he thought could very well be his last words.

"I-I thought you were better then this Mathieu." Mathieu froze, staring at the Englishman. Eventually relaxing his posture, dropping the deadly stick to the ground.

"I am. I'm sorry Arthur, I don't know what got into me..." Relief flooded the strawberry blonde as the Canadian placed a hand on his face, pulling it down to his mouth, worry and disappointment in himself governing the most of his expression. "I'm nothing like him. I can't be..." Oliver brought Mathieu into a hug, unsurprised when he did not receive more then the man moving away in return.

"No, of course you're not dearie, you're you. No one else. I'll go and make some tea for you to help the both of us calm down." Mathieu nodded turning away from him. Oliver walked up the stairs of the cellar and opened the basement door, walking to the kitchen to prepare tea.

...

The paper bag in Canada's arms rustled as he walked the street whistling softly and smiling at the elders who sat on the porches of their town houses. The streets bustled with people, and aside his brother's rather abrupt farewell, everything was quite fine.

He thought over America's words and the anxious expression on his face from the hour before. The nation's azure eyes flitting nervously down the street as he had talked to Matthew. Shaking his head lightly, he continued on his way, apologizing and moving for people who would either give him looks or apologize back. After all, he was a socially acceptable member of the government. Of course only he knew this.

He stopped on a corner, cobblestone road abuzz with vehicles as he waited for the light to change. He glanced at his phone before putting it away, pressing the button again, and again. The light, it had to be broken. Annoyed, he turned heel and walked off towards the other direction, another light at the other end of the street beckoning him to try his luck. When he got home, he supposed he should tell England of the light, so his own citizens wouldn't experience the same wasted five minutes of his life. As he waited on another light, a certain blue Chevrolet pulled up beside the curb.

"Matt? Vhat are you doing here?" The German rolled down his window and asked the question, eyes skeptical of the Canadian.

"I needed syrup and brown sugar so I went and got some, as well as a few things Engl- Arthur asked me to get him." Matthew caught himself on calling the older country by his name, minding his habit of interchanging the terms ever so often. Prussia glanced at the bag.

"What did zhe Limey ask you to get hm?" A multitude of civilians gave Gilbert rather offended glares as they passed by, the nation not seeming at all bothered.

"Gil, you can't go around saying things like that in public eh." The Canadian purposely whispered the words to the Prussian who had to strain his ears to understand. The silverette rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, vhatever. Just get in zhe car." He opened the the Car door for the blonde who sat down in the leather lined interior. New car and pine scent hitting him hard as he got into the vehicle. "So, vhat did Arzher ask you to get 'im?"

"Sugar for his tea and some raspberries since he used them up in the scones. Why do you care? I told you, Arthur is fine."

"Wait, you're still mad about zhat?" Prussia put his foot on the gas and drove back into the traffic stream.

"Well mad is a rather strong way of putting it. I'm just annoyed is all..." Canada contemplated telling the albino about Arthur's sudden coldness about the basement, but decided against it. Knowing that the Prussian would just drive to the conference centre, pick his stuff up from England's home and tell him it's all for his own good. "Why are you here?"

"Hm? Oh, zhe awesome me is looking for Kiku. Have you seen him anyvhere?" Canada shook his head, noting that he hadn't seen the young appearing Japanese since the meeting. "West said 'e might be staying vith us, but I'm bored so I'm looking for 'im." Canada subconsciously nodded and stared out the window at the British citizens, greys and browns the dominant colours of the roadside wardrobe. Though the rain had died and the sun had decided to show itself, something about the town seemed rather gloomy. Though not able to pin it, there was definitely something at least slightly different about the citizens, more irritable then usual as one might see it.

They soon came to a stop in front of England's lot, the humid air refreshing rather then the perfumed car air.

"Thank you for the drive Gilbert." The ex nation gave Canada a smile and hanged his arm out of an open car window as he drove down the street. Canada walked up the drive and knocked on the door, a few moments later, England answering.

"Oh come in poppet, thank you ever so much! I think I shall make a raspberry cheesecake for dessert tonight, would you enjoy that?" Seeming a little flustered, the pink tinted man's accent rushed the words along in their sentences, giving Canada hardly any time to answer before being brought back into the home.

"Arthur, is everything okay?" The nation nodded happily hurrying into the kitchen, busying himself with a cook book. Canada opened the fridge and placed his maple inside, the brown sugar inside the pantry. "I-I was thinking while I was out," Canada glanced at the nation feeling pinpricks of heat touch his face. "I-I really don't mind if we shared a bed tonight. That is, if you're okay with it." England smiled at him, cerulean eyes seeming a little glazed.

"Yes of course dearie, do as you like." Sighing, Matthew stood up, leaving the Englishman in the kitchen. Perhaps he could gain even a mild amount of comfort from Kumajirou.

...  
**  
Just what happened while America was being chased down by America and Canada tried to beat England with a stick. What's happening in 2Ptalia land right now is for later.**

**I'm trying to portray Oliver as less insane and more emotionally unstable as the story progresses, because in reality our mildly anger issued Mathieu states that he really isn't all that bad once you get to know him. Or at least until he gets the idea to bake cupcakes.**

**Thank you for taking the time out of your life to continue or start reading the fanfiction, and I look forward to writing the next chapter for you. Let's all imagine various and at sometimes unlikely places that we will find Kiku in London together now shall we? Until next time, this is good bye, eh?**


	9. The Mirrored

A POISED IMPOSTER CH 9

The night was uneventful, Prussia returned, stating that Kiku had taken temporary residence at a hotel on China's request.

As the sun peeked through the morning haze and curtains, Feliciano yawned and stretched, hand accidentally hitting his German roommate in the face, who then proceeded to roll over and groan.

"Go avay Feli..." The now hung over Ludwig put his face in his pillow.

"Germany, get up! You'll'a suffocate if you keep your face like that." The nation refused to move. "I'll make you some cornetto." His bribe was brushed off roughly.

"Nein! I don't vant your food. It's too bright." Italy sighed, getting out of the bed, smiling as the sun hit his face. He hummed a cheery tune, a bounce in his step as he walked into the kitchen. He loved breakfast. It meant that food corresponded directly with sleeping, his two favourite things.

"Buono cappuccino, buono cornetto! Amo coshì yoh~!" He sang his made up song quietly, buttering his pastry like bread and frothing milk for a cappuccino. Shuffled feet came into the kitchen Feliciano turning to see a certain silverette groggily open the fridge. "Ah! Good morning Prussia!" Prussia muttered something and closed the fridge, opening the pantry.

"I smelt zee food, vere ees eht?" His accent thick and voice groggy, Gilbert inquired about the food. Feliciano smiled and pushed the box of pastries towards the Prussian. He ripped a bite out of the bread, the bags under his eyes not helping his look of all around zombification. The man sat down at the table, and much to Italy's surprise, his head hit the wood moments later. A soft snore signalling his state of sleep. Feliciano crept towards Gilbert, placing his cappuccino next to the albino's face. He nudged the ex nation awake gently and pushed the coffee closer.

"Wake up'a soon okay?" He walked back to the coffee bar and prepared another, buttering his cornetto some more. The Italian sighed. They were store bought, but they helped him in his homesickness. "Bouno cappuccino, bouno cornetto! Amo coshì yoh~!" he sang the tune happily, smiling as he took his coffee to the living room, sitting as he munched his bread.

An obnoxious knocking interrupted his quiet, causing Italy to leave his cornetto and coffee on the oaken table to be used for such. He opened the door silently, puzzled at the person on the other side. His appearance shockingly similar to his own but simply could not be. Not at this time of day.

"Romano? What are you doing here? You don't like to get up early, or at all now that I'a think of it." Romano blinked, eyes tired.

"No, I'a don't. I need good food and'a the hotel only serves these'a stupid little scone things and I'm'a tired of eating them. The rest of the food looks inedible, and'a the Italian restaurants are'a the least authentic thing in the world." He walked into the house, directly past Feliciano and looked around.

"But Lovino, I thought you were staying with Antonio. He has all'a the tomato you can eat." Lovino shook his head, curl bouncing lightly.

"No, not here fratello. I can't eat another of'a those scones. Give'a me something I can enjoy." The Italian's odd request for food at such an early time threw Feliciano off but he nevertheless guided his brother to the kitchen. Without a word, Lovino opened the fridge and rummaged through it, pulling out a slice of pizza from its cold depths. He munched on it and walked out of the kitchen, spreading out on a cushy chair.

"Fratello? Are'a you okay?" The nation gave him a look as he kicked his legs over the side of the chair.

"What'a do you think? I just drove down'a here at'a seven in the morning for food. Of course I'm'a not okay." There was something different about the Italian, and though he couldn't place a finger on the exact thing. His brother just seemed more irritable, if such a thing were possible. Italy inched a little closer. "Don't'a you dare hug me!" It was Romano. Italy laughed happily and sat in his original seat, taking his cappuccino into his hands, sighing at the creamy taste. A voice from the kitchen called out to Italy.

"Feli, I don't know vhat you put in zhat coffee, but it woke me right up." Feliciano answered the voice of the German.

"I made that one for'a me, it has a triple shot of espresso in'a it. That's why."

"Vait, 'ow many of zhese things do you drink a day?" The man walked out of the kitchen, staring at the coffee cup in his hand.

"I'a don't know, I lose track by'a 3 o'clock or so. Why?" Prussia put the cup down on the counter.

"Zhat explains a lot..." He took notice of the boots over the arm of the chair. "Who zhe hell is zhat?!" A rather frightened expression appeared on the usually smirking face of the Prussian. Romano sat up and sat back down after seeing who it was. "Lovi? Vhat are you doing here?"

"Lovi? And'a when did you start calling me that?" Prussia looked confused. Italy felt Prussia's expression. Everyone except Germany and England called him Lovi, why was he surprised by this?

"Uh, since I vas awesome, so always."

"Really can you be any louder? I for vone enjoy my sleep." Germany paused as he noticed Lovino. "Vat is Süditalien doing on my couch?" Said Italian scoffed.

"It's'a not your couch, muto. You're'a renting no?" Germany sighed, muttered a few words in his mother tongue and walked into the kitchen. The tall blonde noticed the coffee on the counter and took a drink of it, spitting it into the sink moments later.

"Italien! Vat zee hell is in zis?" Prussia answered for the brunette before lounging on the couch next to him.

"Triple shot espresso." Thereafter, the tap could be heard running, a glass filling, and water being spat back into the sink. This process continued a few times before the German returned from the kitchen, black pyjama top soaked around the collar. "Feli made it for himself, zats vhy. Conference in about zree hours, I'm going to get my awesome self ready." He stood up despite having sat down seconds before, stretching in his grey t-shirt and red and black plaid pyjama pants.

"You drink too much." Lovino smirked as the German was rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he attempted to clean his palette of the rich coffee. "You can handle hardcore drinking, yet'a you can't even take mio fratello's coffee."

"Halt die klappe... I'm fine. Just not expected is all. Feliciano, go get ready. We were almost late because of you yesterday." Italy took the last sip of his coffee and the final bite of his cornetto.

"Sì!"

...

The conference room was abuzz with various nations. Oliver no longer late, and conversing with anyone who would talk to him. He broke out a conversation with Japan who spoke timidly, but openly about the next shipping agreements between their two countries. Oliver's smile faltered as he watched a person who definitely should not have been there walk in the room. America sat down and leaned back in his chair, blowing bubbles with a stick of chewing gum. Before he could mention anything, Ludwig took up the head of the meeting, light bags beneath his eyes.

"Any ideas?" The German stood at the head of the table. "Vee never get anyvere viff anyzing no matter what I try. Any suggestzens?" Everyone stared at the man who stared patiently back, awaiting a response. None came, an unbearable silence filling the room, even the uninvited Prussian said nothing as time dragged onwards, only the occasional cheep of his bird interrupted the quiet. Japan and Canada exchanged glances, the two quiet countries not making clear what there thoughts were. Alfred picked at a nail, apparently not at all interested. Romano glanced around the room, eyes flitting back and forth. A hand rose slowly next to him and Oliver turned his head to see Italy.

"Anyvon ozer zen Feliciano?" Silence. "Fine. Italy, you may speak." Italy slowly lowered his hand and looked around the room. The German seemed to be cringing as he waited for the comments on food to come from the Italian.

"I feel like we're being watched." The Italian spoke unusually quietly. The hairs rose on Oliver's neck, unnerve and tension filling the room. A loud sneeze came from across the room, Russia pulling the box of tissues closer to himself.

"Somevon ees talking about us, da." Romano abruptly brushed the subject off as unease filled the room.

"No. Are you really going to'a believe Feliciano and the superstitious guy? Like'a really people. Idiots, we're all just tired." No one responded to the nation. Even Oliver himself wasn't so sure that they weren't indeed being watched. If Allen of all people had found his way here, then more may've followed. He stood up, needing to leave the rising tension.

"I have a call I need to make. Please excuse me for a moment." He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, no one else in the hallway. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Mathieu's number. The phone rang twice before the Canadian answered.

"Hello?"

"Mathieu. Did America mention anyone else? I'm afraid there are more of them here."

"What? No, just Allen. Is it bad?" The voice dropped into worry.

"No dearie. Nothing has happened yet, it's just too quiet. Allen is sitting across from myself, and no one's talking at all. I don't feel as though the conference building is very safe right now." The Englishman spoke as monotone and quietly as he could muster, hoping not to arouse the suspicion of any eavesdroppers.

"You need me to pick you up? The two in the cellar are still not up yet."

"No, it's fine Mathieu, I should be fine. I just want you to be on guard poppet."

"Alright. See you then."

"Good bye. Don't forget to feed them alright?" The phone clicked and the signal cut. England returned to the meeting, silence greeting him. Germany remained standing, nodding in acknowledgement of the blonde.

"Mon Dieu. Are we really just sitting here? Back in my country zis never would've 'appened..." France looked at Oliver sternly.

"Maybe not Francis, but I feel like we can no longer avoid our situation of silence. I think we should leave." Canada spoke to his elder gently, France nodding, standing up and leaving for the door.

"Merde! It's locked. Angleterre, why would you lock zee door?! Zis is your country, I'd assume you'd know zat it only unlocks from zee outside non?" Oliver shook his head.

"I'm afraid I'm not the one who locked it. As you said, I'd have to be on the outside, and I'm quite obviously in here." Sweat started to cover the back of his neck. Who had locked it? He was in the room with at least one killer, not counting himself of course. Allen's now dyed blonde eye brow arched in surprise. "I feel as though it's high time that someone fesses up if they know anything however poppets, things aren't going to be very enjoyable in here otherwise." Oliver needed to get down to the bottom of this, and he needed to now. Through the green dress shirt and underneath his suit, he could feel the catering knife, warm with his body heat.

"He's right." Prussia glanced around the room, his eyes locking with the strawberry blonde's. "And vhy not start vith you?"

"Me? I'm quite sure I could not have locked the door and gotten inside at the same time-."

"Who did you call zhen?" Oliver froze, quickly regaining his composure.

"My agent downstairs. I asked if he had seen anyone come in the building asides ourselves. He said no." Prussia gave him an unsatisfied look, but accepted the answer. France returned to his seat, also seeming to accept the alibi. Canada squeezed Kumajirou in his arms, gazing at the table.

"Mon ange chou, what's wrong?" Canada looked directly at Allen.

"What's wrong with you? Normally you talk when you're nervous, eh." His soft voice seemed like a shout in the stillness, Allen's eyes flicked quickly over to Matthew before responding.

"Bro, those are movies. This is different, I didn't know you guys actually wanted me to talk or anythin'."

"Please do America, when you talk it'a distracts me from the scary things. That's why I go to the movies with you!" Italy attempted to lighten the mood. The nation looked away, Germany, who was still standing, clapped his hands together, drawing the attention back to his persons.

"If no one knows anyzing zen zat mean vee are stuck here. Understood? If vee are going to get out of here, zen vee need to work together, ja?" Nods came from around the room. All except Romano and America showing there approval.

"Work together? What are you'a planning to do potato bastard? Break'a down the walls? They're reinforced with'a cement."

"Lovino's right." America propped his chair back on the wall behind him, feet on the rim of the table. "We can't even have a normal discussion about global warming and you expect us to suddenly hold hands and bust outta a room? Don't think that's happenin' anytime soon dollface." Germany sighed, pinching his brow.

"Vat are vee going to do zen?" The German looked at his phone, muttering before putting it away.

"Aiyah! There's no service in here, aru!" China also had his phone out, a panda case covering it.

"Why do you think I had to step outside to make the call love? We're isolated in a cement box so the meeting isn't interrupted. All of you should know this by now, the buildings are all the same really." Russia moved closer to China who moved away from him.

"Become von-."

"No, aru!" Russia moved away, a little disappointed. Oliver sighed. At least conversation was picking up. He let his gaze fall onto Romano, whose head was turned to look at a mirror on the wall. Though the Italian's reflection could not be seen on the pane, he stared at it intently, examining its glassy surface.

...

**Shit just got serious. I mean come on Romano! Scones aren't bad at all! **

**So now we find the countries locked in complete isolation in the conference room. At least two people in that room will use violence to get what they need and one of them has hardly a shred of regret for it. A shorter author note thing time because I don't want to explain too much of what's going on. Until next chapter, what do you think is happening/will happen? I wonder how many of you will get it right... One thing's for sure though. Italy is bound to crash without his next cup of espresso. Ciao for now**!


	10. The Deadlined

"Arthur! Arthur! Wake up Arthur!" A soft and high voice called him and drew him from sleep. He groaned a little and opened his eyes. A soft, fluffy, green tinted winged rabbit sat on his nose. He smiled and sat up the best he could.

"Mint bunny! Where have you been you silly little rabbit." The mint bunny tugged on a lock of England's hair, nibbling on its end.

"England play?" The nation laughed but shook his head lightly.

"No bunny, I can't really move much right now, maybe later." The rabbit floated up and sat on England's head, continuing to nibble on the hair. Arthur stared ahead into the other end of the cellar, large bookshelves on the other side of the summoning circle. His brow furrowing as he noticed a book out of place on the floor.

"Arthur thinking! What is Arthur thinking about?" The mint bunny floated down from Arthur's head and into his lap next to the gauze.

"Bunny, could you grab that book for me love?" The rabbit squeaked and flew towards towards the book, attempting to lift it. It could only be raised a few inches before the book fell from the rabbit's paws. The rabbit flew back to England, making disappointed little squeaks.

"Can't lift Arthur. I'm sorry." England nuzzled the rabbit with his head and smiled softly.

"It's fine bunny, I'll think of something. Haha! Stop that! It tickles!" The mint bunny started jabbing at the Englishman's side, effectively tickling him.

"Mmm... England? Oh god, you've gone insane haven't you?" Alfred stirred awake, noting the nation's condition of talking to the invisible being.

"What? No no, I'm just talking to Mint Bunny."

"Ri~ght. Whatever you say." The American rolled his eyes. "I'm bored."

"Git, you just woke up."

"Yeah yeah I know. I just have a really short attention span is all. Did that other guy bring us food or something? I'm starved!"

"With the amount you talk I don't see how you're ever bored, but no he hasn't brought us anything yet. If anything the house doesn't smell like cookies so I wouldn't be surprised if he's at the meeting." Much to his distaste, the mint bunny had disappeared. He sighed, looking at the book in the other room. How to get his hands on it. He could explain his double's odd behavior to the rest of the nations later, right now he needed to figure out how it got here and what it wanted.

"Mattie? Dude, you there?" The cellar door opened and Mathieu's heavy footed steps came down the stairs.

"What is it? The hockey game's on." The blonde pushed his reading glasses up his nose. The phone rang in the other room. "I'll be grabbing that, just hold on." He left to get the phone. England glanced at the bandage roll in his lap, smirking shortly after.

"Alfred Foster Jones, I believe I have a plan."

...

Several hours time had passed, quick conversations picking up and letting go. Alfred pacing around the room, unwilling to sit still.

"Amerique! Will you stop that? You'll drive us all insane." Francis glared at America, sipping his wine from the centre of the table. Canada watched as an argument broke out between the Franco and Anglophone, Alfred raising his voice surprisingly fast in the argument. As the shouting carried on, he stood.

"Please! Please stop. Al, this isn't like you at all!" For the first in what he thought could quite possibly be his life, he confronted his brother. The American muttered before resuming his seat. It had actually worked. Matthew sat down as well, a soft smile on his lips, proud of himself for finally speaking up.

Little bouts like these filled the entirety of the hours, and continued on to fill the rest. The dreadful silence creeping under all of their skin, even England despite his apparently newly obtained composure and attitude, flicked his eyes around the room, distrust and nerve shining in his eyes. Matthew remembered the Brit's state from the night before, almost the opposite of what it was now. He had been inattentive, his eyes glazed and dull. By morning, he had cheered up, claiming it was since he had someone to hug in his sleep. This had thoroughly surprised the Canadian, the usually tsundere nation making admittance to enjoying his time with someone so willingly. Now though, he appeared sharply alert and much to Canada's surprise, quite similar to the England he thought he knew. Eye's examining the room in silence.

"Vodka..." Matthew looked over to Ivan who was holding a now empty bottle of vodka. The Russian broke the end on the table, bottom of the bottle shattering off, a seemingly scream in the quiet. He held it in a hand as he crossed his arms, staring at the table now covered by the shards of alcohol scented glass. Germany quietly shook Italy awake before his head could roll over onto the frit.

"Ve... Ludwig? I'm trying to sleep." He appeared unusually dreary as he lifted his head, rubbing an eye.

"Vee must stay vigilant Luciano. If you're not going to listen to me on zee battlefield, zen by God listen to me ven I'm sitting next to you." Italy groaned, laying his head down on the table, narrowly missing the glass.

"Germany... I'm hungry..." He yawned and closed his eyes, taking himself into another siesta. Romano who sat next to him, picked at his nails, ignoring his brother's dreary complaint. Canada turned to his backpack and pulled it up silently. He opened it and found a large bag of maple cookies in it's depths, one's he had made before leaving for the meeting from his homeland.

"Feli, no. Everyone, take one. There should be enough for us all if we ration, eh." The bag proceeded to be passed around, everyone taking a biscuit from the bag.

"Zank you Matt." Prussia flashed him a quick smile and nibbled on the cookie, placing a piece in his hair for the sleeping Gilbird to wake up to. Italy took small bites out of the food, sighing at the lack of pasta or tomato involved. Arthur removed the now empty teacup from its saucer and placed the biscuit on it for later, Alfred however refusing to touch the bag. Canada sighed and put the bag back in his backpack, taking note of the number left. Seven. If anyone stole, they could be accused now. Matthew stopped his thought process and shook his head a little. Who was he? America? If anyone stole, it was most likely that they were hungry. It wasn't truly their fault. Being selfish never had been in his nature after all. Silent, everyone munched on the cookies, though without a good meal, there really was no way of fending off the hunger for more then maybe an hour. He had known something was going to be off about the meeting today, only judging it off of the Englishman's behavior the night before. The atmosphere felt cold, a shiver running down his spine. Apparently, he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Je suis froid... Anyone else?" Russia shrugged his broad shoulders.

"In Royssia, vee embrace cold. Vy not? It's everyvere after all..." His expression flickered, lavender eyes reflecting the glass shards on the table. "I come to meeting to hear talking. Not nothing. Please do talking." He smiled at China who edged away from him. Russia's eyebrows turned up, a little bit of a pout on his features.

"I know." England spoke surprisingly cheerfully for one who had been quiet for a long amount of time. "Why don't we talk about ourselves? We obviously know nothing about each other really, so I personally think that it's high time we did." Germany gave a gruff nod.

"I vould normally conseeder an idea like zis absurd, but zis silence is killing me. Especially after having zat von around." He tilted his head to the man who he assumed asleep, but was soon corrected.

"I'a like pasta... Ve~"

"That's the spirit dearie. Who would like to go next?" Matthew smiled as he watched the strawberry blonde take hold of the situation like he was known to asides Ludwig, yet in a much gentler way.

"I enjoy cleaning. Speaking of vich." German who had sat next to Italy, stood up and scooped the glass frit into his hands, making the shards an at least somewhat orderly pile on the table. Doing so, he sent a glance to Alfred who shrugged and sighed.

"I'm bored." A few laughs came around the room, the blonde smirking a little, stretching in his brown jacket. "Ivan?"

"I like being vith friends." He smiled, for once not terrifying the company around himself.

"Well I like entertaining things, like panda!"

"I-I enjoy quiet and soritude in the mountains."

"I enjoy me! I am Prussia so I can't not be enjoyed!"

Matthew froze, unsure of what to say as his turn gradually came around. "I just like that we aren't fighting. If we could always be this friendly, who knows what we'd be able to do?" He gave everyone the brightest smile he could muster, Kumajirou's soft fur clutched in his hands.

As time continued onwards, night fell. Only by their yawns and wrist watches was anyone able to tell however. Ludwig, Gilbert, Alfred, and Ivan moved the table to the side of the room, making space for people to sleep. After an idea not taken well from France to sleep with their clothes off to conserve body heat in the increasingly coldening room, the nations slowly fell asleep, in better spirits then the hours before.

...

Luciano backed against the wall, his allies closing in on him. Mafia styled suit jacket pressing against his skin. He had chosen it to look at least somewhat casual on their way down to the hotel.

"And'a why do I have to do it?" Lutz sighed and grabbed his arm, pulling him down the hotel's corridor.

"You're zee only Italian here. It's eezer zis or you take zat oblivious prick's place ja?" The Italian groaned and stepped up to the door.

"Fine. I'll'a be at the place by quattro. Understand?" The two nations nodded and left the brunette alone. He rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Hola-!" When the Spaniard who opened it attempted to speak, Luciano turned him around and into a chokehold, knife at the side of his throat.

"Say another word and'a we'll have some problems now won't we?" He hissed the words into the man's ear.

"Sí! Please don't kill me." Luciano's eyes narrowed and he jabbed his fingers into the back of Antonio's pressure point. The Spaniard collapsed, Luciano taking the knife away before he cut the skin of the man. He closed the door quietly and stepped over the unconscious body without so much as a glance.

"Spain, you bastard, what's'a taking you so long?" Yes. This guy was much more to his liking. He put the knife in his belt and walked around the corner to find Romano laying pomodoro out on the table. "Italy? Damn it Veneziano, take off the mafia uniform, you'll'a make us'a both look bad! Veneziano? Feli? What do you think you're doing?" Luciano walked up to Lovino, a devious smirk on his lips.

"You know? You're a pretty good guy, I don't'a think I want you dead just'a yet."

"Feliciano?! What the hell are you saying? If'a you want food just ask'a me! And where is Spain?"

"Taking a nap." Luciano said this as innocently as possible. Lovino gave him a skeptical look but said nothing, dishing up extra pasta for his "brother".

"Well? You going to eat or not?" He sat down and started to eat the pomodoro, hazel eyes glancing up at Luciano. He walked over to the table. This really wasn't at all part of the plan, but still. He couldn't really refuse food. Picking up his utensils, he ate in silence, waiting for an appropriate time to make a move.

They ate the meal surprisingly quietly for Italians, Romano getting up to clear his plate. Luciano stood as well, taking a small needle from his utility belt underneath his jacket. Creeping in an assassin's stance, he approached the Italian, silence fully maintained. He stabbed the needle into back of Romano's neck, the Italian standing a moment, dazedly turning.

"Good night, fratello."

"Vene...zian...o...?" Romano fell to the floor, Luciano sterilizing the needle afterwards. He took the ladle from the pot of left over sauce, practically drinking down the rest of it. He grabbed a tea towel and gagged the Italian, dragging him to a utility closet. He grabbed his collar and undid the shirt of the man, taking his own of. The pants, they were close, right? He looked down to find remember that he was not wearing his typical uniform as he stared at the grey dress pants. So maybe the pants weren't that close.

Next thing he new, Romano was in his under clothes. Luciano grabbed a bunch of hotel towels and straight jacketed the other. He pushed the body into the closet of Romano's room and shut the door. Stripping down, he pulled on the tan uniform, lacing up the boots. He next grabbed Antonio and dragged the surprisingly heavy body into the kitchen, propping him up on the chair. He scribbled a quick note.

'Bastard, you fell asleep. Meetings aren't that boring. I'm headed out to get more pasta, you can clean the shit up.

Insincerely, Lovino'

He brushed his bangs down, walking out the door. That had been easy, he got a meal and new clothes, at the same getting his job done. He left for the abandoned hotel building where he was supposed to meet the others.

...

The sun rose over the country side in warm rays, the fluffy pink and orange clouds reflected in the lodge's windows.

"I'a feel like a dork in this outfit. When'a do I get to take it off?"

"Later." Was all Luciano received before his allies ducked away into the bushes, in case emergency came to call. Luciano sighed and walked up the front steps. He put a hand on his hip as he knocked rolling his eyes before he crossed his arms and pasted his true emotion of tiredness on his face. A young Italian opened the door and looked him over a few times.

"Romano? What are'a you doing here? You hate getting up early. Or at all now that I'a think of it." Luciano sighed inwardly with relief. He had to ad lib everything as the only time he had to study his target was over pasta the day before. He proceeded to tell his lie and walked into the homey house.

As the brunette was admitted entry and the door closed, Lutz laughed.

"At reast the two are simirar." Kuro smirked in the closest thing he'd ever given as a smile. Though often acting as their boss, Luciano often was placed in the acting roll, mostly because of his fluency in language. He had a fairly decent American accent, but the fact that he threatened to shoot someone if he ever had to speak English in such a way again brought them off such exploitations. "We shourd go and get ready Germany-san." The taller man nodded and stood up. They headed out to the car and drove off down to the conference building.

...

Luciano shot awake from sleep.

"Oh God, Lutz I'a just had the weirdest dream. We were about to ambush a meeting after travelling through a dimension or some shit and..." He loomed around him to see the sleeping bodies of the nations around him, a few of them snoring.

"Luciano? What in the hell are you doing here?" Allen whispered the words. Luciano looked over to see the now blonde leant over Oliver, bat in hand.

"Diablo... I was'a going to ask you the same thing but it would've blown my cover. Nice place they got here though." Allen smirked in the darkness, dim light from a digital clock on the table glinting off of the glasses of this dimension's America.

"Would be a shame if someone were to trash it, t'wouldn't it now?"

"Stupido bastardo! The Russian has a broken vodka bottle and will'a probably kick our asses! Baseball bat or not." The door opened up with a click, a tall figure walking in.

"Is now a bad time or somezing?" Lutz whispered the words and frowned a little.

"What'a do you think? The double sided mirror is'a right'a there!" He pointed to the mirror on the wall. The green suited man at Allen's feet stirred and groaned a little.

"Hn? What's going on loves? Morning already?" Allen pinned him, Lutz rushing forwards, nimbly stepping over the people.

"Wait!" Luciano stopped the men. "If we remove him now, it will arouse suspicion. I say we leave one by one, no?"

"Look! Please, I'm sorry about whatever I've done. Honest! I'm clean of my ways, really dearies. I came here because-."

"I knew it!" A voice came from across the room, Prussia pulling his navy blue jacket on, white hair disheveled. He pulled the bottled away from the side of Russia's pillow. "You endangered people close to Matt and zee awesome me. Prepare to suck it, losers!"

...

**All hail the double digits! We're finally in the double digit chapters.**

**Who knows what's going to happen next? Maybe somevon vill receive pain from zhe awesome Preußen? (Chapter reference like...) Hope you enjoyed the next addition to the story. **

**As everything unfolds, England finally puts his brain to use and the pages begin to turn. What will happen next? Will a solution be found, or is it all just the beginning? You'll find out soon! Write to you then!**


	11. The Obselete

Awakened by the feeling of sweat and stiff muscles, Romano's eyes fluttered open in the darkness. Was he in a straight jacket? Of towels? He attempted to stretch his legs forwards but found that they were stopped by a wooden door. He felt a panic over come him, memories of Feliciano's abrupt visit slowly returning. Spain. He couldn't possibly be "taking a nap" as Italy had described it. No. That couldn't possibly have been Italy, could it? He would never have been silent over dinner, let alone knock him out directly afterwards.

Within the towels despite that he may've been able to at least wiggle his arms, they did not move. In truth, he could not feel them either. He swiveled his head to his shoulder and attempted to bite it, only to find his mouth had been gagged. Lovino hit it as hard as he could with his chin. Nothing. The bastard had given him temporary paralysis. Romano groaned inwardly and kicked at the door, his legs late in reaction timing. From the looks of things, he had been drugged worse then he had thought, but at least he had eaten. As he shouted to see if Spain had truly just fallen into a state of spontaneous sleep, all he found his vocal cords could do was squeak. He couldn't bite his own neck, but it seemed to him that he was paralyzed half way on his neck and down from where then needle had jabbed him. His leg kicked at the door again, hardly delivering enough force to knock down a toddler. Unless he could grab the Spaniard's attention, Lovino was going to be stuck in the closet for a while, and a while was much too long.

The drugs had to wear off eventually, right? All he could do till then is conserve his strength and wait for it to happen. The Italian hummed softly to himself, bored as he thought he might ever be in his entire life span, which was technically infinite.

Romano thought back to the appearance of Italy. A white tie and charcoal grey suit. He couldn't possibly be with the mafia, could he? Last he had heard, Feliciano was scared out of his pasta loving fantasies of the mafia, if anything, the mention of the criminal organization was enough to have him whimper and hide behind Ludwig. As this was the case, what on Earth was he doing in such clothing and knocking him out? Italy couldn't possibly have _killed _Spain, right? Lovino could vaguely remember Antonio's words being cut off, but he hadn't thought a thing of it earlier. How much earlier he wasn't sure, but the cool light seeping through the cracks in the door indicated that it was most likely the next morning.

The nation squirmed the best he could, but to no avail. Even if he did still have his phone, what good would it have done? The conference room had an obsolete signal and his hands were in a similar state. Surely though, someone would notice his absence from the meeting. Yes. Perhaps England, no. Maybe not him. Francis, being the social person he was, was most definitely going to notice someone's absence. He was also a good friend of Antonio, so would he not notice if he were missing also? Romano smirked in the darkness. All he would have to do is wait.

…

He was right, the nations before him, they weren't all they had said they were.

"Alright, vat are you bastards doing here?" Gilbert stood and twirled the broken vodka bottle in his hand, feeling rather bad ass. The one who had been called "Luciano" stood and pulled a small knife from within the depths of his jacket, a wicked smirk on his features.

"I believe that information is'a confidential." Before Prussia could think of what was going on, the knife whipped past his face, narrowly missing his left ear. "There's plenty more where that came came from Germano bastard, would you like a taste?" Luciano slowly pulled another knife from Romano's jacket, hissing the words as to not awake the other nations. "Lutz." The German nodded briefly in acknowledgement. "He know too much. Get him and'a you out of here, va bene?" The tall man grumbled something and walked nonchalantly over to Prussia. The silverette brought the vodka bottle up and swung it down as hard as his limbs would allow. "Lutz" caught it and dragged Gilbert forward, kicking him in the back of the knees and swinging him over his shoulder in one swift movement. Prussia felt a scream rising in his throat, but it was forced back down as he was rammed into a wall, pain racking up his spine.

"Hey!" The pink dyed Arthur stood up and pulled a catering knife from inside his suit. How many knives did these people have? America pulled him back, putting a leather sleeved arm in his mouth.

"I came here to get you and Matt so we could go home. It appears I ain't able to drag a dead body through a dimensional portal so you can just shut your thin lips." That was definitely not Alfred. The man seemed to mutter something from behind the leather, bushy eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

With a heave, Lutz adjusted Gilbert on his shoulder. The ex nation kicked at the man but to no avail as he was carried out of the sound proof room, vodka bottle left behind.

"Der Scheißkerl! Put me down!" He shouted at the German, still flailing his legs every which way he could think of. His target grunted at a well aimed kick to the stomach and threw him down, yet again winding him for the second time in three minutes. His perpetrator proceeded to drag him by the legs down the hallway. The ex nation remained silent from then on, knowing it would only advance the rough treatment.

A soft peep caught his attention, Gilbird dazedly chirping as it emerged from the navy blue fabric. The puff ball sat on his chest and stared at Gilbert. He sighed inwardly, petting the bird's head. At least he didn't seem to be hurt. Prussia smirked deviously as he noticed the tall German's undone pocket on the jacket resting on his shoulders. He gave Gilbird a hard look and flicked his mahogany eyes at the pocket. Seeming as though it understood, Gilbird hopped off of Prussia's chest and flew towards the pocket, concealing itself inside the tan fabric. Gilbert then proceeded to focus on not getting rug burn and moved his hands to the now Gilbird-absent chest.

As his hair became ever more static, Lutz stopped, dropping his legs. He opened a door, the furnishings of a spare conference room inside. He hoisted Prussia up by the collar and threw him inside.

"Flavio will be here shortly." The German stretched and turned heel, locking the door behind him. Gilbert smirked as he watched Gilbird ride off in the taller man's pocket. It didn't matter who "Flavio" was. Not now that Gilbird had free reign.

...

The day had passed by, Mathieu being with enough courtesy to bring the hockey game downstairs on his phone for the two to watch and allowing washroom breaks (escorted) ever so often. Arthur sighed and glanced at the watch on his wrist. 11:45 pm is what it read, a yawn escaping his lips. Despite this, neither Alfred nor Mathieu seemed at all phased.

"Why're you yawning?" America stretched his legs out in front of him.

"It's almost midnight, that's why you git." The nation looked at his own watch.

"What? No it's not. It's almost seven." That's right. There was a time zone difference to consider. He sat up the best he could. Mint Bunny wouldn't show up if America was awake and fully attentive. "So how's this plan of yours going to work? I mean, I'm willing to believe anything after being chased by myself down a street and hearing a bunch of intergalactic-"

"Inter-dimensional"

"Yeah that, travel baloney." England puzzled over this. He and Alfred had been drugged before so it threw off their sleep schedules, but now that the American had recovered, there was no way England was going have him fall asleep before him. He knew for a fact that Alfred had a night owl's schedule. Going to bed late, waking up at a ridiculous time in the afternoon, almost the opposite of his own really, but with the change in time zones, America would wake up before him. He fought back another yawn.

"I'm not quite sure how it's going to work Alfred, if we could get you some of those sleeping pills..." Alfred's shout interrupted him.

"Hey, Mattie! I can't sleep!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" England hissed the words, Mathieu's heavy footsteps coming down the cellar stairs.

"Yeah, and I can't either when you yell like that. What do you want?" The bags underneath his eyes were accentuated, blonde hair untied and reaching past is broad shoulders. "Mon dieu... Whatever... I have some pills you can have. You?" Mathieu's eyes flicked over to Arthur. The nation shook his head politely. Mathieu crouched down and inspected the wound on the blonde's leg, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He picked up the roll of gauze. "Your leg's fine I guess. You don't need this thing." He shoved it into his pant pocket and took out the sleeping pills in turn. He put one in Alfred's mouth and walked back upstrairs.

Panic rose in England. That gauze was about fifty percent of his plan.

"G'night Iggy." Alfred spoke drearily, azure eyes glazed. "We're screwed now, aren't we?" England didn't say anything, knowing all too well how right America was.

...

**Here's your next chapter! Sorry about the wait, my brain kinda just fell from the sky and exploded a little bit when it came to this story so I had to leave it alone for a while. A quick summary of what has happened so far:**

**Prussia woke up due to the slight commotion, finding that the suspected England and a few unsuspecting countries truly aren't of this dimension. Second player Germany drags him down the hallway giving Prussia just enough time to plant Gilbird on him. Meanwhile, Mathieu completely kills Arthur's plan (either by accident or on purpose is unknown) leaving America unconscious and England panicking. On another hand, Romano is yet to figure out the whole second player ordeal and thinks his brother is with the mafia.**

**Until next chapter!**


	12. The Scheme

Prussia popped his head out of his carefully constructed pillow fort as the door creaked open. He stood, cracking his knuckles as a dress shoe made its way into the light. However, as the man who must have been "Flavio" stepped through the door, Prussia was taken aback. The blonde smiled at him from behind fuchsia shades and a scarf to match. The man giggled and closed the door, straightening his white suit.

"Ciao~! You're Prussia, yes?" Though he spoke a mixture of Italian and English, his accent was hardly noticeable. The only thing identifying him as Italian was the soft blonde curl coming off to the side of his bangs. "I'm Flavio, the nation of Southern Italy. A pleasure!" He smiled with an award winning smile and held a hand out to Prussia expectantly. "You're Prussia, yes?"

"Yeah! Zat's me. Name's Gilbert "Awesome" Beilschmidtt by ze vay." Flavio laughed cheerfully as Prussia took his hand and shook it. This man wasn't a threat at all, or at least for now. Prussia resumed his pillow fort construction and left Flavio to himself.

"Gilen would so freaked out right now! Like seriously. Oh my gosh! Is there seriously no service in here?!" Prussia turned to see Flavio moving a chair about places in the room, holding his purple cased smart phone in every which direction. "Huh. I guess I'll talk to you then." Flavio put the chair back, plopping himself down next to Prussia. "So, _Gilbert..._ What's your favourite food?"

"Wurst." Prussia replied shortly from within is pillow fort as he propped some supports inside.

"Ooh! I like wurst! I also like sushi, and pierogies, and..." The blonde started to list a multitude of foreign foods, and some of which Prussia had never even heard of. "Do you like dogs?"

"Vat? Oh uh yeah I like dogs. Mein bruder owns zree." Prussia yawned, remembering that he had been woken up by the commotion and had only gotten a few hours of sleep.

"Oh well I love dogs too! Actually, I got Luci one a loooooong long long long time ago since Spain let me bring it to Austria's house. It was a tiny little Maltese too and oooh it was so cute! Anyway, I brought it over and had to stay the night but next thing I know the dog was gone! Like, poof!" He made imaginary clouds with his hands. "Luci was coming back inside with a shovel after I woke up, but he said it was for maid work but it had liquid on it and he wouldn't tell me what it was. And-." Prussia cut him off.

"You mean you seriously don't know vere ze dog vent?" Flavio shook his head, hazel eyes widened in expectancy. "Vas zis liquid dark?" At Flavio's nod, his stomach dropped out, his mind immediately flashing him images of child Italy with a bloodied shovel. "Vell zen he probably murdered it." So these were the kind of people he was dealing with. He shook the thoughts off and spoke nonchalantly as possible, trying to stay calm. If that's what that guy did as a child, what was he going to do as an adult.

"What?! Oh no. I think you're making a mistake. Luciano would never do something like that! Yes he's not very nice, but he'd never hurt anyone!" Seeming more distraught about the accusation then the dog, Flavio shook his head.

"He threw a knife at my face! Just vat kind of image do you have of zis guy anyvay?" Flavio suddenly grew serious, eyes narrowing.

"Mio fratello is the most important thing in the world to me and you won't tell me anything else about him, got it? He is a man with good intention and doesn't need your petty rumors. This is the first time he's ever let me do anything important for him and I'm not going to mess it up, got it?" Flavio grabbed his collar, dragging him forwards. Prussia nodded and humored the man, mahogany eyes faking a plea. He would let him fall asleep before he tried to break out. He was hungry and twelve hours was an awfully long time to wait for bathroom access.

…

The nations stirred as they awoke, Prussia's absence becoming immediately obvious.

"Germany, calm down." Oliver cooed the frantic German softly. "That's the seventeenth time you've checked under the table." How was it going to be explained that another Germany stole the albino away? Germany sat down, stopping his pacing.

"How are ve getting out?" He patted Italy's head who muttered something about creamer, coffee and food, the rest being things Oliver couldn't pick up.

"Call it medieval if'a you want, but shall we break the door down with the filing cabinet?" The man he now knew was very well not Romano spoke up, yawning tiredly. Germany nodded and stood, Russia and America following him, Luciano sighing and getting up when beckoned. The four with a heave managed to lift the filing cabinet and set it down by the door. Canada got up to help, only to be shooed off by the Italian. "We don't need help."

"Hm? Isn't opening doors his job or somethin'?" Allen gave Luciano a quizzical look who groaned and silently pointed to the end of the cabinet. Had the drawers not been locked, every document would've been on the floor moments later as they put it on a horizontal, giving it a slow swing to build up momentum.

"Hell this thing is heavy!" Before Oliver knew it, he and every nation (aside the practically unconscious Italy) was on the filing cabinet, the metal box light as his feelings of communion in finally doing something with a number of other people.

"_Heave!"_ Germany shouted the word and the cabinet swung towards the door. Much to his surprise, the door opened before contact, Oliver and a number of others letting go in surprise. Had the poor man not screamed and dodged, a certain silverette would've received a five foot filing cabinet flying into his face. "Prussia?!" Germany seemed rather unconcerned with the smashed drywall on the other side of the hall, rushing over to Prussia who immediately began to explain his kidnapping. Before he thought anyone would notice his absence, Oliver slipped through the crowd, walking swiftly down the hall. He took the stairs in rapid step. There was no time to lose. He had made up his mind and things had to be done now. The only person he ran into was Italy, who overtook him appearing not to notice him as he practically flew down the stairs in search of a cappuccino. He ran out to the parking lot, only stopping to greet various secretaries who spoke with him. He full on sprinted to the car, jamming the key into the ignition. Last night was close, much too close for his liking. He could keep Allen here and get rid of the two nations he had bound up. Then he wouldn't have anything to worry about. Of course Allen wasn't a passing example of the cheerful man in the cellar, but unless he could keep the blonde quiet, there was no predicting what the nations here would do to him.

"Ciao~!" He glanced up to see a blonde man hopping into the familiar Chevrolet beside him. Was that Flavio? The man gave him a cheerful smile. Opening the window he smiled back.

"Oh hello! Do keep this quiet, won't you poppet?" Flavio nodded and hopped in the car as Oliver ripped out of the parking lot, slowing down only when he hit traffic.

The clock screen in the car flashed with the time, a smile crossing his lips. Perfect. He could set everything up before his counterpart would awake. He pulled out the original England's phone, holding it in the crook of his neck as he drove.

"'Ello?" A tired voice answered him.

"Mathieu, dear I have something very important for you to do. Get out the book and a mirror, and please be quiet about it, love. I also need you to check the varnishes and antifreeze below the sink for the ones highest in methanol."

"Arthur, explain what's going on right now or so help me-." Oliver wrenched on the wheel as a truck nearly hit him, interrupting Mathieu with the screech of hot rubber as he turned a corner. "Mon Dieu! What the hell is going on?"

"Language Mathieu... Just taking a leisurely drive. Now do as Big Brother asks before he gets home dearie~ Or I'll have you drinking the antifreeze instead. Goodbye now~!" He hung up and jerked on the wheel again to make a sharp turn. He needed to focus on driving. It was really no different then a ship as much as Allen begged to differ. He slowed as a police car zoomed by, only to speed up again and make another turn, barely skimming the curb. He sped down the way and lurched into the drive, getting out and slamming the car door as so as he put it into park. Jogging up the driveway, he quietly opened the door, closing it to find Mathieu standing right in front of him.

"You had me worried sick, what is wrong with you?"

"Quite a number of things really, now then I have to bake something for our dearest England and I must do it quickly lad. I can answer your questions later. Now be a good pet and bring England out of the back room and into the summoning circle."

He grabbed the ingredients he had gotten a few days ago and set to work, multitasking expertly around the kitchen. Glancing briefly at the cyanide and arsenic, he smiled and pushed them to the side. He didn't want him dead yet. Not quite. He returned to the counter to find that Mathieu had set out an actual bottle of methanol. He smiled and took a quick whiff of it grin widening substantially as the propane substitute filled him with a giddy almost childlike glee. Nodding to himself, he quickly grabbed a sticky note and wrote down the brand name, he could certainly use more of this should his plan fail.

"Alfred! Oh God, please wake up!" Oliver sighed as his counterpart screeched downstairs at the nation. He set to work, making a full batch of cupcakes, not doing a thing to them as of yet. He of course would like to eat them too and prepare a few for tea later that afternoon. As they baked, he threw icing sugar in a bowl, carelessly pouring a half capful of methanol in as he hummed, preforming his deadly waltz around the kitchen. He opened the alcohol cabinet and grabbed one of the several bottles of scotch and took a swig of it before pouring some into the icing. England would recognize that smell and taste and simply think the sweeter scent of the poison was the icing.

He was truly a genius.

The timer rang and Oliver grabbed the cupcakes out of the oven, swiftly moving them to the cooling rack with precision comparable to that of a machine. He loaded the small batch of icing into a plastic bag and cut off the tip. They were much too warm to ice now, he clucked his tongue and headed downstairs. He couldn't leave Mathieu down there to pin him down forever. Oliver grabbed some ropes from off a ledge to bind Arthur further.

"I'm so sorry..." He arrived just in time to hear Mathieu murmur the words to the now quite upset Englishman.

"Sorry doesn't cut it you bloody prat! Do you even know what you're doing?! I'm a nation and I am sick and tired of living like a beaten dog. Now let me go!" Mathieu yawned tiredly as he pin the man down under his weight.

"I'm afraid I can't do that dearie." Oliver moved behind the two and bound the man with the long rope, from mid-calf to just above the hip. He gave the rope a final firm tug before deciding that the blonde was indeed immobile. He motioned to Mathieu who got off of the Englishman's shoulder blades. "I made cupcakes upstairs Mathieu, I need the icing so please kind enough not to use it. It would be most unpleasant if you did." Mathieu said nothing, scowling at the floor as he walked upstairs. "Now then, I suppose it's come down to this then love. Though I am quite sad to see you go. I enjoyed having someone to come home to that I could understand so... Well." He smiled and patted the mirror below England, grabbing a book from the side of him.

"Shut up! What did you do to him?"

"Alfred? Oh I didn't do a thing. Actually, I wasn't even here poppet."

"Liar! Sleeping pills don't do this to people."

"If they were Mathieu's then I suppose that yes they do. They were specialized for his insomnia he suffered as a child. He should wake up shortly though, don't you worry." He spoke calmly and ruffled England's already messy, partially blood crusted and matted hair. Oliver gently ran a thumb over the nearly healed cut he had inflicted on the nations face a few days ago and smiled sentimentally. "I didn't have as much fun with you as I thought I would, Arthur. Maybe your dear little brothers will be less expendable..."

"You wouldn't, you bastard-!" A sharp slapped hit the blonde as Oliver's hand stung his cheek.

"With that language, I'd greatly enjoy it." He muttered the words darkly before standing. "Ah yes, I made a treat for you for your parting, I'll just go get that for you, love."

After quickly icing the singular cupcake and walking past an apparently regret stricken Mathieu, Oliver made his way back downstairs, methanol lace treat on a lone plate. He sat down next to the Englishman who had not eaten in twelve hours. Oliver held the cupcake to England's mouth, waiting for the thin jaw to open. England took a quick sniff, brows furrowing in disgust.

"It smells like scotch, really bad scotch." He spoke shortly, but it was enough of a frame for Oliver to shove the cupcake far into the man's mouth excluding only the wrapper which was left on the plate. Before England could react, Oliver held a hand over the nation's mouth.

"Breathing's a privilege and one I'd hate to see you lose." England's emerald eyes went wide as Oliver's hand moved up to cover his nostrils as well. As the nation chewed to avoid suffocation, Oliver smiled at him, gazing at the watch he stole off of the man. "Do you think your suit looks good on me? Oh how I wanted to play dress up and put you in my clothes before sending you off, but we don't get everything we want, now do we? I suppose that's just how life works." England swallowed a final time, gasping for air as Oliver took his hand away.

"Why the hell would you put scotch in those?!"

"Oh dearie, you're just lucky I decided against the cyanide. Or else you would've been suffocating even without my hand." England was drawn a blank, but before long he let out a cackle that anyone who knew him would have considered mental hospital worthy, coming from him.

"I knew it! You don't know a bloody thing, do you? I can't _die _of poisoning. Game over you stupid, childish,-."

"Hush, hush." Oliver smiled what one might call his signature Cheshire grin and hushed the blonde. "I'm not stupid Arthur." He spoke in a dark, devilish whisper. Far different from that of what he had shown the man thus far. "I'm just as intelligent as you are, if not more. I don't know every trick in the book, because I _invented_ the book you see. I wrote every word, line by line." He slowly picked up the leather bound book he had abandoned on going to get England's treat, flipping it open to a bookmarked page. "I think it's time for you to go..." His smile widening, he giggled quietly. "Poppet."

…

The nations left Prussia alone in the hallway, even Canada drifting away from him.

"Please, you need to believe me!" He seemed desperate, red eyes pleading for the belief of the G8.

"Prussia, I zink it's time for you to go home. You're not as young as you used to be."

"I'm young! I'm over young! I'm super awesome young, and zis has nozing to do viff age!" Germany sighed and left his older brother alone with Canada. "You believe me, right Canada?" Canada edged away from him, doubt coursing through him as the ex nation pleaded.

"I-I'm sorry Gilbert, I want to, I really do. I just can't. Alfred, Arthur, even Lovino would never do that."

"But it vasn't zem! You need to understand Matt." Canada sighed, inching away from Prussia as he held Kumajirou tightly in his arms.

"I don't Gilbert, I don't understand at all. I think I'm going to head back to Arthur's, okay? You should get some rest, eh."

"No!" Prussia seemed to snap at the mention of England, grabbing Canada and staring him dead in the eyes. "If you go back zere you might die. He had a knife viff him ze entire time yesterday! He's not sane Matt!" The Canadian pushed him off gently, turning down the hall.

"I just can't believe you Gil, I'm sorry." He turned, trying his hardest to block out the pleads behind him.

Exiting out of the building, he noticed England had already gone, his dark BMW no longer in the space where they had left it. Typical. He called a taxi, which arrived promptly and he hopped into the passenger seat, simply telling the driver that Kumajirou was a stuffed bear for his little sister. His mind wandered to Prussia's warnings of the odd behaviors of a number of nations the night previous. What did it mean? He was shook from his thoughts as the driver let his off in front of England's house. The once pleasant veranda and flower bed not seeming quite as enjoyable.

He stepped up the stairs and opened the door with a soft creak in unwittingly the same way as America had before him. The house was dead quiet, his socks sounded of thunder on the hardwood. Nearing the kitchen, he found baking supplies strewn across the counter, but among it was something that certainly didn't belong. He put Kumajirou down and went in to study the bottle. _Methanol?_ A feeling of unease overcame him as he picked up the half empty icing tube, a bittersweet scent washing over him. Maybe Prussia was right, but if he was then that meant England was... His thoughts snapped together and in perhaps a millisecond, he was sprinting towards the basement. Is this why England had told him to stay away? The door was flung open by his frantic hands and he stopped, a low murmur catching his attention.

"_Esparantos... Heveta tsuvisa nos... Ich havet mos transiva miros..." _The foreign chant grew clearer as he made way down the staircase, hands grazing against the stone walls for support. As he came to the foot of the stairs, a horrifying sight greeted him.

England laid gagged and bound atop a decently sized mirror, the man whom he had thought up till that point was England stood at the edge of the circle, trance-like as he muttered the incantation.

"Mm! Mmm mm!" The real and rather disheveled England tried to speak through the gag, Canada noticing a touch of icing on his cheek. Suddenly feeling quite sick as he watched the circle around England glow, he found himself unable to move. He had never been in a situation such as this before. "MMM! MM MMMM M!" England, now absolutely frantic, flicked his eyes to the strawberry blonde, Canada only mildly understanding. He did the first thing he could think of and launched himself (gently) at the man, somehow bowling him over and apologizing profusely. The Not-England didn't appear to mind, not stopping in the chant as he grimaced, only stopping when he heard England's muffled scream from behind the gag. Matthew whipped around only to see the soft ripple of the glass before returning to its former state. England however was nowhere to be found.

"Arthur?! Arthur!" Matthew ran to the mirror, placing his hands on it as forcefully as he could muster, only to find them clash against the cool glass, as though England's body heat had never shrouded it. "What did you do to him?!" He screeched at the strawberry blonde, and though his voice would perhaps have a chance of comparing to that of a normal person's volume, the impact was all quite clear. He frantically pressed on the mirror, trying to find the breaking point and even lifted it up as he prayed to find a trapdoor. There wasn't one.

"Now Matthew, your friend is where he belongs now. How about you come and get some tea dearie?" The Englishman held out a hand to Canada who pushed himself away, tears threatening to overcome his lavender eyes.

"N-no! Stay away from me! Bring Arthur back!" The man clucked his tongue softly and sighed.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. He has to come back himself, now come upstairs love." Coxing after coaxing, Canada refused. Backing himself up till he found a wall in the furnace room. "Matthew." The man spoke firmly as though one were to speak with a disobedient pet. "_Come here_." As the blonde yet again shook his head, through his tear soaked peripherals he saw a familiar figure slumped against a box.

"Al!" He rushed over to the nation who stirred in his sleep, muttering something about milkshakes. "Oh no! You're okay, right?" He gave the least Canadian glare he could come up with to the imitator in England's clothes.

"Glaring isn't going to bring your Arthur back now is it? How about you let me explain myself before you cast me such baleful looks?" He gave Canada an eerily warm smile for someone who had just caused someone of high government importance vanish. He knelt down to his level and held out a hand, cerulean eyes hooded. Canada, though quite unwillingly took the hand and walked up the stairs, and was sat down in the living room. This time however, he wasn't asking for a room. He very well would've rather slept on the streets.

…

**Alright guys, I'm back for good this time. I've just been so busy this summer... I've had some family issues (nothing serious, it just made it hard to concentrate is all), writer's block galore, and one hell of a time researching poisons in public spaces without seeming crazy. SO here's your next chapter! Things start happening and stuff! Poor Iggy has been poisoned with Methanol (I didn't feel like taking the instant death or gory route) and Canada just glared at someone. Not to mention a short visit from the car stealing, uber fabulous, scarf wearing, Flavio. What will happen next? Stay tuned!**** But this time you don't have to watch commercials for a few months...**


	13. The Update (Important)

This is just a quick update concerning the writing! No story will take place here! You may move along if the next chapter has been uploaded.

In my writing, it has become quite obvious that I tend to use a phonetic accent. This becomes quite tiresome as I've moved away from this in my other writings and it can be hard to understand for people who are not of similar backgrounds in how they hear the accent making my work quite localized.

Before I begin to write the next chapter, I would simply either appreciate your input (comment or PM) on whether you would like me to continue with the accenting in this story or not. I understand that consistency is important, but I value my readers comfort more!

Characters will of course keep their verbal ticks. I know for a fact that Fringlish (the mixture of English and French that France and Mathieu tend to speak with) is quite real in the sense that I catch myself when I attempt to answer the English in French and the French in English. Thanks French classes, look at what you've done to me... Italy will still occasionally use "ve", Oliver will still use his "creepy old man on train" love and poppet endearments et cetera. It would make writing a lot more comfortable, faster, easier and possibly even uploaded faster as I won't be sitting at my laptop in dread of writing someone's speech.

...

Getting that matter out of the way; I've written the after story already... About four of them. (Don't judge, it's how I do character and plot dev.) After I finish the actual story and give it to you all, would you like to read them? They differ from very depressive to quite humorous and those are just the ones I have on file. Would you be interested? Of course You'll see the real ending, but what happens after that?

Please let me know how you feel about all of this soon before I get too far into writing! I'm just plot hole proofing the blueprints for the next chapter now so you should have the time for at a few people to give their opinion. If no one mentions anything, I'll go ahead and change the accent thing to make writing a bit easier on myself. The after story thing depends on entirely you though!

Obviously there isn't a synopsis for this as it was a technical chapter. So let's have fun and watch methanol poisoning together from the victims point of view. I'm sorry Arthur, I really am sorry. You're just a source of anger for our dear Oliver is all.

I'll get back in my corner now... Until next chapter!


	14. The Ignored Details

His eyes fluttering open, England felt the cool glass beneath him return, turbulence having ripped at the ropes and loosened them from his hands and legs. Where was he? He glanced about, the thick smell of lavender clogging his senses and nauseating him along with the motion sickness. Kicking off the ropes, he shakily pulled himself up his muscles rejoicing at the freedom of movement at last. The room was familiar, the large summoning circle, stone floors, bookshelves covered in dust and ancient books. The only differences being the lack of other people and thick floral scent that weighed him down. Yet it wasn't right. He tried to move and yet something of fear seemed to stop him. Oliver was he himself, so he would live in the same town and place right? The dead quiet was too much to be his home. There had to at least be the soft tick of a grandfather clock or the hum of busy traffic in the distance, yet there was none. What of London? The lunatic had such twisted morals, his heart couldn't be in any logical condition. He took slowly to the stairs, a half of himself wanting to bolt out of the house to realize he had been dreaming this entire time and the other to stay put in fear of what might be outside.

Much sooner then he would've liked, England reached the top of the steps and had his hand on the cool door knob, dry fingertips flinching at the sudden sensation. He pushed open the door, wincing as harsh sunlight met his eyes. From behind his forearm, he observed the hallway. More embroidery then he could ever dream of producing touched every surface it could without appearing tacky. It felt quite warm, homey almost. The lavender nearly knocking him off of his feet however as though someone had just planted a fresh garden and bought every last canister of heavy air freshener and sprayed them all at once.

"Oi! Anyone home?" He impulsively called into the house, recieving no answer but a soft growl as he turned down the hall. A fair sized deep brown grizzly cub gazed at him, fangs and claws at the ready. A bear? Of all things, Oliver owned a bear? That couldn't be right. The mammal growled taking a few steps towards the Englishman. "He's utterly mad, keeping a bear as a pet. Honestly, at least Matthew tamed his..." England backed up a little, returning to the staircase but making sure to keep his eyes locked on the bear. Under the scent of overwhelming flowers, a touch of perhaps maple caught his nose. That couldn't be Canada's bear, could it? Of course if it was its owner wasn't all that passive either from his outburst the other day. The bear had to be Canada's. He had seen a brown bear before, but not a grizzly in his country after all. An idea flickering in his mind, he edged the other way down the hall towards the kitchen. This place had the same layout as his house from what he could see, so the kitchen would have a locking door, right?

For every inch he moved, the bear seemed to move two. His heart racing and sweat pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck, England shuffled slowly down the hallway, hand grazing against the wall for a door knob. He had been taught how to deal with bears by Scotland many years ago and this certainly wasn't how it was done. If anything, his brother had irritated a bear and let it loose on him to see who would stay alive the longest. He hadn't been very fond of them since. His fingers brushed against brass. In the moment of time he flicked his eyes to the door and threw himself onto the other side, the bear lashed out, scraping against the wood of the door England had barely managed to but between himself and the beast. A half empty bottle of maple syrup and a quarter full bottle of scotch sat on the clean counters.

England prepared a large bowl of scotch and maple, placing it at the door. He opened it and put himself behind the door. The bear padded in slowly and sniffed the mixture, eventually sticking his muzzel into the bowl. After a few minutes, England decided it was indeed safe to come out from behind the door. The bear looked up at him and back down to lick out the bowl. Definitely Canada's bear. He quietly closed the door on the bear, sneaking off silently. The sun had yet to disappear behind a cloud as the open drapes let the rooms soak in the Calfornia worthy gold. He gazed out the window, a woman in a soft pink blazer walking past with a matching pencil skirt. Yet more business dressed people in vivid colours walking around, the majority smiling like they were walking on a bad 1960's American movie set. This was _not_ London. It couldn't be, not with the sheer lack of cars, everyone seeming to have middle class jobs and matching hedges. Maybe it was just this neighbourhood. If everyone was like this and worked as a business person then the economy must be outstanding, but still. He looked himself over and realized that this was certainly no way to present himself. Bloodied and ripped clothes weren't acceptable, well _anywhere_.

He moved to his (Oliver's) room and opened the wardrobe, an exhasperating amount of pink, purple and every shade in between assaulting his eyes. After who knows how long of searching, he found some grey dress pants and a suit jacket. He straightened his tie and groaned. He smelt like pumpkin spice, and it really bothered him. Not because he hated pumpkin spice, he actually quite enjoyed it, but now he was going to be thinking about all of the lattes he couldn't make and how they wouldn't be coming out for another month or so. That and the fact he was still hungry after the repulsive dessert he had nearly died eating. He grabbed a few pounds out of a change jar and walked out of the room.

"I mean, we can't do the break in. It's illegal!" England's senses pricked as he heard a muffled voice outside a living room window. "And rude. How would you feel if someone broke into your house?"

"Italy did it."

"Yeah, but Italy is scary and controls the half of Europe." A heavy accent came from both men, England stepped onto the deck to see two tall men bickering on the front porch.

"Excuse me? I would ask you to be quiet, but did I happen to overhear you two lads attempting to break in?" The taller of the two, a brunette, let out a short shreik and shrunk away, taking cover behind another whose messy white hair tied down into a long ponytail. Said albino said nothing more and pulled a shot gun from his waist.

"Do not shoot! He'll do necromancy again and kill us!"

"Shut it Viktor. Oliver, don't play dumb you propaganda play boy." England raised his hands slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he recognized the brunette.

"I'm not Oliver- Ivan? Is that you? And I do _not_ involve myself in necromancy thank you very much."

"Ivan? Who is this Ivan? Oliver, what happened? You are looking plain." The man he could've sworn to be Russia stood at full height, red scarf tails falling around his calves. Though the albino kept the gun pointed at him, he looked at a watch and growled.

"Viktor. We're wasting time, we need to kill him now while he's vulnerable. Then the Axis will be fine with your whining." Axis? World War II ended years ago, yes the three still hung out with eachother, but not to plan war strategies.

"Hold on, World War II-." The Russia look alike interrupted him.

"World War IV."

"_Four?!_ What do you mean World War IV? How come people are walking around? What about bomb shelters? Who won three? This is terrible! Who let them all walk outside? What did Central Europe do _this time?_" The silverette put the gun down.

"Who are you? Don't lie to me."

"I'm Arthur Kirkland! Now if you'll excuse me I have a Queen to talk to and alternate dimesional citizens to protect." The two exchanged looks, disbelief on thier features.

"Arthur? Spain'll be happy to hear this. So you got over your whole psychopathy thing then?"

"I say! I've never been deserving of a nut house, and the man you're talking about sent me here and took my place where I'm supposed to live so excuse me for not being a lunatic." He knew he was snapping, but this was worrying. There was never meant to be a second war, now there had been four? This wasn't right at all.

"Italy did say things on travel..." The Albino nodded, eyes narrowed. "Oliver is terrible person, I'm sorry you had to meet him. My name is Viktor 'Russia' Braginsky, or what Italy calls 'East Prussia'."

"Gilen Beilschmidt." Gilen stuck out his hand swiftly and gave England a firm hand shake then returned it to his side. "You will call me Prussia. Nothing else, understood?"

"Is it not awkward to call you Prussia in public?" Though it was a genuine question, Gilen met it with a scowl.

"You will not address me by anything in public then. Until you figure the ropes out around here, I'm your superior and you will not address me in a familiar manner." He briskly walked past England and opened the door. "We figured while everyone was gone we'd shut down the operation here. Oliver's the only one stopping Italy from overtaking Europe. He's started a huge number of world inclusive wars recently and isn't letting up. We're teetering on the edge of number five as of two days time when conference ends. Spain and Germany are the only one's holding him back from unleashing an entire armada on on Switzerland."

"Why Switzerland?" England was puzzled, was this world's Switzerland not neutral?

"No one knows comrade, Switzerland never does anything, it might bore Italy."

"So he is neutral?" A nod and grunt were his answer.

"Oliver and he get along alright so he's Switzerland's second defence, and a dangerous one at that."

"Italy has one of the biggest armies I have seen though. He must get it from Rome..." Viktor's expression was screwed into worry. "But Oliver fights with mental strength believe me or not. He lasted a full winter in my land without any problems during World War III. Then he brought a needle and contaminated my people with disease. Cruel man, really." Not only was he dealing with a phychopath, but biological warfare. He felt something inside him drop out and the colour drain from his face.

"What disease?" Viktor gave him a rough pat on the shoulder, his large hands weighing him down. The brunette laughed a little.

"Don't worry. He has his way with drugs and poisons, but disease transport is not one of his strengths. He won't be trying it again." That wasn't comforting at all. If someone else had told him then perhaps it would've made the difference, but any form of Russia wasn't all that trustworthy in his opinion. Gilen walked into the kitchen, frowning at the maple covered bear.

"So he took Canada with him then. Viktor, we have a little bit more of a problem then I suspected. If America and Canada are both working for the guy we're in for it."

"He did seem upset that Oliver skipped the treaty meeting this week. To think we might've had peace for a year or two..."

"This week? You mean he disappeared right after it started?" Gilen nodded as he knelt down to ruffle the bear's fur. "So you're telling me he'd rather come across a dimesion and what I can only assume as completely destroying my reputation then have peace for his citizens?" A soft sigh from Viktor and a grim look from Gilen made him feel sick. He had killed thousands upon thousands of people in his time, but never to harm his people. He could never harm an innocent at this point in his life.

"Oliver isn't sane Arthur. Don't take it personally, but I'd rather have Italy for a tyrant over Europe instead of the constant threat of two war super powers going at eachother constantly. Every great ruler falls eventually, I know it too well." The albino stood and gave the now quite friendly bear a final pat on the head. "Good boy Kumakuro." He walked down the hall and through the basement door. Waltzing down the stairwell as though he owned the place, "He wasn't always this way though. No he was at least a little sane. No one knows what happened." Gilen shook his head as he thumbed through the books on the shelf. "Not here. We need to go to the conference building. Come, Viktor. Arthur, you too."

"Just how much does Italy control?"

"Spain, Germany, Japan, Austria, Prussia, myself, Belarus, Poland, The Carribean, his brother, and a few others." With a shrug, Viktor sighed a little, but smiled. "It's okay though. He treats us well enough. Compared to the others at least. You either side with him or Oliver. Only America really seems to deny them both." So Italy was a war lord? He really had a hard time seeing that. He had started a protest for "sleeping rights" during meetings (which failed against Germany) but that was just about all the conflict the childish brunette would cause.

"A bloodthirsty Fascist is in power on one half and a Tyrant Monarch on the other. There really isn't much we can do about it." Gilen walked back outside and started down the drive. "I don't understand why his people seem so happy though." England silently agreed. On the brink of a fifth massive war in the course of less then a century, and yet these people looked movie set worthy.

They walked down the street, passing and occassionally dragging Viktor out of numerous candy stores and bakeries. Yet the closer they got to city centre, the grayer and heavier the city would grow. At first, it reminded him of his own London up till he found an iron maiden in a shop store window. This was where the old jewler sold his product, not a torture dungeon. Shuddering, England brushed the thoughts off and walked along side the two alternate nations, reminding himself that this was not in fact London, or at least not his. However, when they found themselves walking where England had many times before, he nearly screamed in shock.

The London bridge was no where to be seen.

"Viktor, I think we should turn around. We're going the wrong way." The Russian apeared puzzled.

"What? No, we aren't Arthur. He always walk this way." England grabbed Viktor and Gilen by the shoulder, turning them around and shoving them down walk in the opposite direction.

"We take the long way. _Now._"

"Arthur. Do not handle me like a child. This way's faster." Gilen followed his gaze to the nonexistent bridge. "What? Oh that thing. It was never rebuilt after the London fire is all."

"That _thing _is important! Do you even know what happens when a monument is lost?" Gilen shook his head, Viktor shrugging. "No wonder he's insane! I couldn't handle it being down for a year, let alone a hundred years. It's like cutting a part of someone's brain out! They don't funtion properly without it." Eyes widening, Viktor stared at the missing bridge.

"So it was supposed to be rebuilt?"

"Well obviously you prat! It connects half the city for God's sake!" Gilen pushed against him, eventually dragging the Englishman behind him. "Tell me everything else is still here..."

"Well what is everything else for you? If you think the palace is gone, it's not. No one in their right mind wouldn't rebuild the building their government depends on. Not that Oliver's in his right mind..."

"Fine. Just help me get home so I can wash my eyes out."

Thankfully, everything else was in place where it should be. The conference building standing over them as they walked up the lot. They opened the door, and the familiar building was laid out before him. A secretary noticed him, giving him a slightly frightened smile.

"M-Mr. Kirkland, it's good to see you again." He quickly read the name plate on the woman's desk.

"Ah, thank you Matilda...?" He smiled politely and continued on his way, failing to avoid contact with other non-nation staff.

"Sir, where have you been? The Italian Congress has been asking for you."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Can I get you snacks?"

"Er, no I'm not all that hungry thank you."

"Percy, the Sealand representative, left you a letter."

"Burn it."

After a multitude of pastel clothed people asked him questions and prodded him with snacks, he finally reached the door of the conference room. Gilen opened that door to the run down room, a large gash on the opposite wall. No one said anything as Gilen leafed about the room. Five minutes, ten minute, thirty minutes passed before he sighed a little and moved on to the next room, repeating the procedure. By the time they had swept through the majority of rooms, England could see the sun setting out a window down the hall, the light tangerine pink reminding him of the man currently wearing his military police outfit. Gilen walked out of the last room on the top floor, holding a book in his hands.

"I found it."

"Found what?"

"The source of the problem depp! Now we just drag everyone back here and send you home." Appearing rather pleased with himself, the albino handed the leather bound book to England. "So Arthur, you're the wizard here. Now teleport so I can get this over with and go back home. I have a lot of paper work to do and none of my time should've been spent looking for this book."

"It's not that simple. If we're using the same spell, I'll need a mirror, a page number, this thing might even have moon stage specifications. This sort of thing can take hours, no even a day to just set up for. And that's someone experienced in transdimensional travel! I'm not. I summon and curse things. I don't dabble that far into the dark arts." He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning swiftly. "He doesn't include any form of English at all, this is going to take me a while to find the right one, let alone translate the directions."

"Italy did it in about twenty seconds."

"He _invented_ Latin! Wait, did you say Italy? How many people are there in London right now?"

"The Italy Brothers, Japan, Germany, Oliver, America, and Canada as far as we know. America left by himself..." Viktor counted off the countries on a hand and smiled. "It's okay though, We're still here."

"Unfortunately." Gilen grumbled, tapping his foot on the ground for every second that went by. "Now hurry it up, you're worse then Ludwig..."

"Wait, you all have different names, but Ludwig? That's my Germany's name."

"You will call him Lutz, it's diminuative."

"Stop telling me what to call people, and start telling me why to call people those things."

"I'll explain if you start translating."

"Fine, I'll look for something that has to do wih a mirror and work from there, we'll need to go back to the house so I don't have secretaries picking at me." He recieved a silent nod and a happy hum from Viktor.

By the time he had gotten to the 'American 60's" neighbourhood as he had now decided to call it, he had to put by far too much effort into lifting his legs as fatigue erroded him. His muscles must simply not be used to moving. He walked silently behind the two, wondering when he started moving up hill.

"Comrade, you are okay, yes?" Viktor tunred around, most likely hearing the drag of a foot England had forgotten to lift.

"Yes, quite. I'm fine. I just haven't walked much this week is all." Seeming unsure, the Russian stopped.

"Are you sure? I can carry you if you need." England backed away from him, only to have Viktor advance a step towards him. "You are pale Arthur, you are not well."

"Don't give me this bollocks, I'm perfectly fine."

"Good. You'll be able to translate this overnight then." Gilen dragged Viktor along with him, leaving England no choice but to keep up with the taller men's long strides.

...

"Vene- Ah!" A swift kick to the rib knocked the air out of Flavio's lungs, a boot crashing down onto his back.

"Che cazzo? To mess something else up you bastard? I know I said I wouldn't do this but Lutz, I don't want to see his pathetic face. Beat him to death if he won't leave." The German in the corner grimaced as Luciano pulled back for another kick at Flavio's side.

"Italy, this isn't necessary. Why don't we just send him back?"

"Don't talk back to me you bastard! If I hadn't kicked Francois' ass back then, you wouldn't be here!"

"V-Veneziano... Please..."

"Vaffanculo!" Tears welled in his eyes as he shut them, bracing for another kick. After none came, he opened them slowly, seeing Luciano being held back by his partners. "Let me go you traitors!"

"Italy-san. Calm yourself before you torture someone, it's very unprofessional to do it while upset."

"Or you could just not torture him at all."

"Don't talk to me about not torturing you Germano bastard! At least I didn't burn millions of people alive!" While his brother was distracted, Flavio shakily stood up, moving away from the enraged Italian. He wasn't sure when he became this hungry for power, but it scared him. Luciano glared at him, violet flames burning holes into his mind.

"Veneziano... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to. Please don't hurt me anymore..." His voice came out a whisper, bringing Luciano's face to soften. What any normal person might've considered a moment of relief brought dread onto Flavio as his brother stopped glaring, a soft and semi sweet smile on his face.

"What? Oh of course not Flavio... I won't hurt you." He laughed a little too happily, Lutz backing away from him. "I'll deal with your little pet instead. Spain's quite useless after all."

"What? You can do what you want to me, but you won't involve him in this." He stood up straight, looking Luciano dead in the eyes. No one hurt his Spain.

"Or what you twit? You'll bedazzle my hat?"

"Veneziano ti amo, but you promised not to hurt Spain. Yes, I will bedazzle your hat." A loud cackle came from the man, a cruel smile playing across his lips. He could feel his cheeks going red as Luciano laughed, the harsh sound filling his mind. Barely recovering from his cackling fit, Luciano wiped away a tear from his waterline, barely containing himself.

"Poor, poor Romano. So unloved yet so dependent on people. What's the worst you've ever done, trespassed on private property?" Laughter forcing its way out of the Italian, Luciano grabbed a table for support. "I mean, you can't even hold someone captive for more then eight hours, let alone torture them for information. I can't believe I let you come..." Luciano straightened himself a little and stared Flavio dead in the eyes, the violet flames burning through his mind. "I won't hurt Andres on one condition."

"Yes?"

"You pull your shit together and bring me Oliver Kirkland, otherwise..." He pulled a small throwing knife out of its sheathe. "My little friend here will be aquainted with Spain's face quite shortly. We clear, _fratello?_" Nodding quickly, Flavio smiled.

"Ci, Veneziano. I'll find Oliver for you."

"Molto bene, Flavio. I want him before this meeting is over. He has papers to sign and surrenders to make. Make me wait and I'll kill Spain in front of you then kill you right after. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind about this whole ordeal." With an eloquent smile, Flavio walked past his brother and out the door of the abandoned hotel room. Dropping the smile as soon as the door closed behind, he thumbed through Luciano's freshly pick pocketed wallet pulling out all of the bills. He wasn't _that_ useless. Placing the stack of cash in an inside pocket, he pulled a briefcase out of a room, walking with a bounce in his step down the hall. Oh the fun he could have with this thing.

"Oh Veneziano... I think you've forgotten whose the younger brother of an ex-conquistador... After all, does my real name not mean bringer of ruin?" He spoke gently to himself and snapped open the briefcase, swooning over its contents. "I'll be using you soon baby, don't you go tarnishing yourself with dust now." Running his fingers over the object, Flavio closed the case and walked down the hall. He wasn't bad at war, he just played his cards a little differently then the rest.

...

**It's been a while! I really don't have much to say this time around, except that Italy is a warlord. Just picture it! The pasta army that fights with oblivious antics and takes siestas in the middle of battle to confuse their opponents! Anywho, I hope you enjoyed. I have midterms coming up shortly so I hope I can work together the next chapter soon. Until then! Ciao~**


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